


Seven Years Later

by koalathebear



Series: The Wolf and The Bear [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Future, Future Fic, Gen, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Slow Burn, Smut, Speculation, Time Jump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place seven years after the friendship fan fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7337893">Lady Bear</a> started and explores the burgeoning romance between Jon Snow and Lady Lyanna Mormont.  I will not try to pretend that this story is anything other than a romance.  What can I say?  I'm a hopeless romantic.</p><p>Before the disapproving messages start flying in - this takes place when Lyanna is of age.  There is nothing under-aged here.  If you prefer friendship only, then please read Lady Bear.</p><p>You don't have to have read the earlier series of scribbles - but I think the story will mean more if you have.</p><p>In my head, the adult Lyanna Mormont looks like a darker-haired, darker-eyed <a href="http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1566209.html">Kaya Scodelario</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preamble

**Author's Note:**

> There will be an incident that suddenly makes Jon see Lyanna in a different light - I definitely don't like the idea that he might have been attracted to her throughout etc. I never really bought the Celine Dion story that her 38 year old manager had known her since she was 12 but that they only fell in love after she became of age... :P
> 
> In terms of ages, here are the birth dates of the various characters:  
> Jon Snow 283 AC  
> Daenerys 284 AC  
> Sansa 286 AC  
> Arya 289 AC  
> Lyanna 290 AC
> 
> Jon is 7 years older than Lyanna so when she is 18, he is 25. It's not quite in sync with the books and the series which have him around 18-19 at the end of the series, but it's close enough.

_Two years later_ , Lyanna Mormont had become one of Jon Snow's most trusted advisors and friends, not only to him but to his sisters Sansa and Arya. The ravens flew swift and often between Winterfell and Mormont Keep and Jon Snow's face was as recognised amongst the inhabitants of Bear Island as he was around Winterfell.

 _Four years later_ and the kingdoms were in a state of great flux and uncertainty. Queen Cersei was no more and Daenerys Targaryen, had sailed across the Narrow Sea on the ships of the Iron Born to arrive in Westeros with her dragons. She had been prevailed upon … persuaded by those she trusted to also trust in the bastard Jon Snow in his fight against the dead who were amassing North of the Wall.

Fifteen year old Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island had started to receive proposals of marriage, extended on behalf of young scions from various Houses of the North. Although providing a source of great amusement to Jon Snow and embarrassment to the Lady of Bear Island, these were little more than momentary distractions as Lyanna's mind was on other matters - like the army of the dead amassing North of the Wall.

She, too insisted on fighting in the battle against the Night King and his army and there were none who could could dissuade her from her intention. Jon Snow as her liege lord could technically have commanded her to stand down and started to try.

His vassal had other ideas. "It's also my fight for my people. If the Night King wins, then all of us will die. Not just you and I - but all of our people. It is my right and my duty to fight."

Thus she had ridden to battle by his side despite his many, many reservations, the details of which can be read in the accounts of the maesters. Suffice to say that she was one of his most loyal and brave lieutenants in the battle.

 _Five years later_ and the Night King's army had finally been defeated, albeit at great cost. The armies of man were diminished and yet they had continued to fight, even the Horn of Winter bringing down the Wall not stemming their resolve. 

Other battles were also fought as Euron Greyjoy's discovery of the dragon horn led to the death of Rhaegal and Viserion with Drogon being grievously injured. Euron Greyjoy had escaped with his life, fleeing back onto the oceans with his fleet …


	2. The Kraken Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Six years later_ and a modicum of normalcy and peace had returned to much of the Seven Kingdoms, but the fragile peace is broken when Euron Greyjoy attacks Bear Island.
> 
> Warnings: some violence and threatened violence in this chapter. Euron Greyjoy is, after all, a psychopath. Also references to sexual assault because the ironborn are basically pirates who rape and pillage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna is 17 in this chapter - I got myself a bit muddled sorry but I've corrected the age references.

Adult Lyanna Mormont: [Kaya Scodelario](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1566209.html).

_We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less ... but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros._  
\- Euron Greyjoy

*

 _Six years later_ and a modicum of normalcy and peace had returned to much of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Bear Island, was no exception. It remained beautiful and remote with its ancient, twisted oaks, tall fragrant pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones covered in moss and little creeks with icy water running down steep hillsides. It was, however, no longer quite as wild and primitive as it had been in days gone by. 

Previously, aside from a few crofters, the people of the island lived along the coasts and fished the seas. Now, the presence of Maester Samwell Tarly and his wife Gilly elevated the education levels somewhat as the small but growing library was attracting scholars in the North to visit Bear Island to speak with the young Maester Tarly. The book collection grew and regular visits were made by his students to the Citadel to copy books of note and then return to Bear Island. Little Sam had learned to read almost before he had learned to walk, much to his mother Gilly's astonishment.

Even Mormont Keep itself seemed much less shabby than it had been. The wood-walled castle possessed a medium sized "great" hall built of huge logs which was surrounded by an earthen palisade. The previous air of dust, neglect and disuse was now gone. New glass in the windows, newly installed panels and engravings gave the hall a much newer and lighter atmosphere – less gloomy and sad.

"The winters here are even worse than Winterfell, though," Lyanna had remarked once when Jon had complimented the improvements being made throughout the castle.

"Yes, although nothing compared to the coldness at Castle Black – Bear Island is positively luxurious despite its ice winds and snow storms," he had teased her.

"Not sure the comparison is entirely flattering, my lord," she had replied with a crooked smile.

"Do you think your mother would have liked it?" Jon asked her as they stepped back and admired the new, richly embroidered banners that had just been hoisted onto the walls of the hall. Sansa had used brilliant thread of emerald, silver and jet to make the new banners for House Mormont, bringing an uncharacteristic splash of colour to the previously grim old hall.

"I think so?" she mused, tilting her head slightly to confirm that the banners were straight. 

"She would surely have liked my sewing," Sansa exclaimed, entering the room with Arya at her side. At 21, Sansa had become even more beautiful than ever if that was possible, her rich red hair in an elegant coil around her shapely head, her calm, languid face like a painting. Tall and willowy, she was always poised and calm and her beauty was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Beside her, Arya at 18 and Lyanna at 17 still looked like mere children with their tumbled, undressed locks, laughing faces and shabby tunics. More often than not they were both dressed in boys clothing. While Sansa never looked anything but immaculate, Arya and Lyanna always looked as though they had been fishing … climbing trees or fighting – which was indeed probably what they had been doing.

Arya still chose to remain at Bear Island, even after all these years. "There are too many ghosts for me at Winterfell … I can visit ... but it's no longer my home," she had told her brother haltingly. She did visit often, for Sansa and Bran lived there and she loved her siblings dearly – but Winterfell evoked too much darkness and sorrow and somehow she felt more at ease at Mormont Keep.

It hurt Sansa that her sister did not wish to remain at Winterfell but in her heart, she understood Arya's reasons and respected them. Thus it fell to Sansa to dutifully discharge the responsibilities of the lady of the keep, visiting the sick and the elderly in the village, overseeing the accounts, the meals and the house-keeping. Lady Brienne, now that peace had finally come, also lived at Winterfell that she might better protect her lady. Jon had offered her lands and a small holding in the North, not far from Winterfell in gratitude for her loyal services to House Stark, but she had declined politely.

"My lord … thank you, but as my disappointed father would tell you, I am no farmer or fine lady … I know only how to fight and protect. I will no accept no lands - whether here or in my home of Tarth," she had confessed a little sadly when she had regretfully but firmly refused the offer of lands and a title of the North.

"I wonder if Ser Jaime could change her mind?" Sansa had wondered.

"These days Ser Jaime lives his life out at the bottom of a bottle … he's no good to anyone, least of all himself," Jon had told her soberly. When the wars had raged, Ser Jaime had proved an invaluable ally and the blood, the violence and danger had diverted his mind from his demons and memories. He had been a formidable warrior in the battle against the dead – selfless and brave. Now in a time of peace, he was clearly haunted by his past and shattered by the loss of his once beloved sister.

"Let's not tell Lady Brienne that," Sansa had said in a low voice. "It would grieve her greatly to know that Ser Jaime suffered …"

"She will find out eventually – but not today," Jon had agreed.

Like Sansa and Bran, the Lady Brienne visited Bear Island frequently, training with Arya and Lyanna and also assisting Lyanna's military commander to train her people.

"Have you really such a need to continue such training now that there is peace?" Sansa had asked her curiously.

"It's a part of the island's history and our traditions… we are a warrior people. We are proud of being She Bears," Lyanna had replied, tossing her thick black hair over her shoulder carelessly. "In olden days the ironmen would come raiding in their longboats, or wildlings from the Frozen Shore. The men would be off fishing. The wives they left behind had to defend themselves and their children, or else be carried off. I will not let our old traditions die during my lifetime," Lyanna had declared.

"You know if you would let me style your hair … and pluck your brows … you could be almost pretty, Lyanna," Sansa had remarked, changing the subject and brushing Lyanna's thick tangled hair back from her pale face. 

"Me pretty?" Lyanna had questions with an incredulous laugh, moving out of Sansa's reach, her dark eyes dancing with genuine amusement. "Dacey was the closest we had to a beauty in the family and even she'd rather have swung a morningstar at a foe than pluck her brows."

"Completely understandable preference if you ask me," Arya had agreed, rolling her eyes at Sansa's 'almost pretty' comment.

"You two are a bad influence on one another," Sansa had remarked disapprovingly. "Jon – you should rein them in a little … I swear you let them run wild."

"I would not presume to tell the Lady of Bear Island how to conduct herself," Jon had replied in amusement.

Arya spoke slowly. ["Father once said that I had a wildness in me ... the "wolf blood', he called it. He said our Aunt Lyanna had a touch of it and our uncle Brandon more than a touch. He said it brought them both to an early grave."](http://koalathebear.tumblr.com/post/147823651846)

"Well in _my_ family it's called the bear's blood and it's considered a good thing – and helps us avoid an early grave," Lyanna had told her loftily, dark eyes flashing as she stood with her hands on her hips.

"I'm going to help Arya pack her things and then we must be away," Sansa informed them all and the two girls left the great hall together. 

Jon studied Lyanna who was now sitting on the large wooden dining table, swinging her booted legs while leaning back slightly.

"Are you sure you won't come with us this time, Lady Bear?" Jon asked her. "It's the last big feast we'll have at Winterfell before I answer the Queen's summons to attend upon her in the South."

"Can't," Lyanna said with a shrug. "We're bringing the nets in tonight, lots of fish to be prepared … can't leave in the middle of all of that."

"Can't or won't? Fishing over dancing, Lyanna?" he mused, his dark eyes looking very amused. He smiled very rarely. Only in the presence of Arya and Lyanna could a smile even be seen to lighten the gravity of Jon Snow's face. He'd come back from death different and the years of war had left no one unaffected.

"Sorry," she told him with complete insincerity in her voice.

"My sisters will be very disappointed at your absence."

"And who will you dance with at the feast? Glynna Cerwyn? Jeyne Manderly?"

"No one if I can get away with it," he said with feeling coming to sit beside her on the table instead of on one of the heavy chairs beside the table. He glanced around the great hall reminiscently. Over the years, he had spent a great deal of time at Mormont Keep and it had become as familiar to him as Winterfell, possessing a warmth and a feeling of home that Winterfell had never possessed.

With Lyanna and Arya he had also explored a great many of the secret passages and rooms of the keep. While not as old or as large as Winterfell, it still had a maze of secret thoroughfares and chambers that had been used by Mormonts past for hiding and escaping from foes. 

Lyanna looked at him and smiled. "Do you want me to call Arya? You could hide and we could go looking for you," referring to their variant of the childish game that the three of them loved to play both at Winterfell and at Mormont Keep. It had kept them all entertained for many, many hours over the years, although Lyanna and Jon always seemed to have an almost uncanny sixth sense about where the other was hiding.

He gave a short laugh. "The thought is very tempting, my lady - unfortunately I think Sansa would murder us both if we did that. We need to get back to Winterfell to make preparations before the guests starting arriving – but another time," he promised.

"As you would have it, my lord," she said respectfully and he slanted her a look. He knew that tone of mock deference. She had been one of his most fierce and brave warriors on the battlefield, earning the respect and loyalty of all of those who fought with her – but she had also been one of the most recalcitrant and irreverent. Part of it had come from the ease of familiarity but part of it had come from Lyanna herself. 

"There's talk of rebuilding the Wall," he remarked casually.

"Is that even possible?" she wanted to know.

"It would appear so."

"I suppose it would give the Night's Watch something to do – but what are we defending ourselves against now?"

"There are still a great many dark creatures up North, if you believe the stories. There's many who feel naked and exposed with no Wall in place …"

"But we don't have the Children of the Forest … the giants …"

"We have Bran's visions, Sam's books … a dragon …"

"There is so much to rebuild," Lyanna agreed. The population of the North had been almost decimated, many fighting men and women lost in the battle against the Night King. It had taken much time to regroup, grieve, bury the dead and then move on. At seventeen, the weight of ruling Bear Island sat even more heavily on her slender shoulders than it had at the age of eleven for the people were sick with sorrow and many still traumatised from the nightmares of the battles against the dead.

"Perhaps we shall have a feast or a festival on Bear Island soon, too," she remarked. "It has been too long since we've had celebrations … I shall ensure you are invited, my lord."

"I'd have assumed that that was a given, Little Bear," he told her with a crooked smile.

"And dancing would of course be required – the girls of the village would be most offended if you did not dance with each of them ..."

He groaned. "Can't you find me a bear to wrestle instead, my lady?" he asked her.

Arya and Sansa re-entered the hall. "We're ready," Sansa announced and Lyanna walked with the three of them out the main entrance, through the courtyard and to the gates of the keep where Arya's things had been loaded into her saddlebags. Sam, Gilly and little Sam had already ridden on ahead. They rode more slowly, so had attempted a head start so as not to delay the faster riders.

The two girls embraced Lyanna warmly. "I wish you'd come with us … I mean – fishing?" Sansa asked her, even as Arya nudged her and rolled her eyes. 

"I told you – it's not just fishing – it's important!"

"Enjoy the feast," Lyanna told them and stepped towards Jon. He clasped her hand warmly before turning to help his sisters to mount their horses. She watched them gallop away with a smile on her face and then returned to the keep on her own.

*

"My lady – you need to leave now." 

Lyanna's eyes snapped open. It had been a long and exhausting evening, wading in the frigid waters with her people to help pull in the nets. They'd worked by moonlight and even without the cold winds, it had been cold and challenging work. Lyanna had been glad to bathe and then fall into bed in exhaustion.

"What is it Ser Lonnell?" she asked him, coming awake immediately at the sound of her military commander's urgent voice.

"The ironborn have been seen sailing towards the island, my lady …"

Lyanna's blood ran cold. _On Bear Island every child learned to fear krakens rising from the sea_ and Lyanna was no different - and now she was alone … 

The ironborn followed the Drowned God, a harsh deity said to dwell beneath the oceans. They believed that the Drowned God made them to take what they wanted by right of strength, to rape, reave and carve out kingdoms and to make their names known in fire, blood, steel, and song. Fierce men of the sea, their dark legacy of raids and pillage of the hinterlands of the western and southern regions granting them a terrifying reputation.

The Old Way was still highly regarded amongst many on the Iron Islands even though Theon and Yarra Greyjoy were working hard to dismantle the Old Way. They were still encountering resistance amongst the more stubborn of the ironborn for whom the Old Way embodied the remembered values of a culture based on raiding. A man's worth was judged primarily on his skill as a raider, as evidenced in the disdain jewellery and ornament bought with coin. Men on the Iron Islands wore no tokens unless they had "paid the iron price – been won by combat and taken from the corpses that they had slain. It was a brutal culture, entrenched in conflict and the complete annihilation of its hapless victims.

During raids, the ironborn would take took captives. Many of their captives would work as thralls, slaving away on the farms and mines of the Iron Islands since the true sons of the Iron Islands were meant for more than such drudgery. 

Lyanna dressed quickly and ran with Ser Lonnell to the lookout point, high over the water, taking the seeing glass he handed her. The ships were still under cover of darkness but she could see the ominous flicker of sails in the distance.

"How many?" she asked, despair in her voice.

"Too many to count, my lady . You need to leave the island now before it's too late," Ser Lonnell told her desperately. "There are too many for us to fight this time …"

"I will not leave my people. Send ravens – "

"Maester is already sending as many ravens as he can to Winterfell, to House Glover … to any of the nearby castles …"

"Jon Snow is still travelling to Winterfell, he will not receive the raven in time," Lyanna said in a quiet voice. "Have you sent riders?"

"We have sent a dozen riders to beg for assistance, my lady. But you must leave … we think … we are almost sure that it is Euron Greyjoy's ship _Silence_ leading the fleet…"

Lyanna stiffened and raised the seeing glass to her eye again. It was possible that there was a glimmer of red but the ships were still too far away to see.

"You know I can't leave … we can't fight, but perhaps I can try to keep our people safe …"

The iron born would take women captive to act as bed warmers … "Ser Lonnell, please take as many people off the island as you can. Have them board the boats to the mainland ... flee as far into the northern wolfswood as they can. The men need to leave .. .and as many women and children as possible …"

You know they will not leave, my lady. Already they are preparing themselves to fight …but if you stay, you will not survive. The ironborn will kill you and take Bear Island."

"It depends what Euron Greyjoy's purpose is for wishing to invade the island again," Lyanna said grimly. "I can't leave … I'm the only chance we have of avoiding the massacre of all of our people," she told him.

*

The _Silence_ sailed towards Bear Island. A red, lean and fearsome warship with a single mast, black sails and dark red hull, just the sight of her was enough to elicit fear. Her decks were painted red to better hide the blood that soaked them. On the prow was a black iron maiden with long legs, slender waist, high breasts and mother-of-pearl eyes - but no mouth. The stories said that she was crewed by mutes and that Euron Greyjoy claimed to have sailed her as far as Asshai.

Tales of Euron and the _Silence_ had always been told in hushed whispers on Bear island – that he had raped and pillaged all over the world and that even his lovers were not spared his cruelty – one unfortunate woman having her tongue cut out after she fell pregnant. A wildly unpredictable man, he was well-known for his delight in playing vicious mind games and waging psychological warfare on anyone around him. A skilled warrior and manipulator, he was cunning, shrewd and ruthless. He had not taken his rejection by Daenerys Targeryon well and although he and his men had fled from retaliation, everyone had known that they would return again one day.

No one could have suspected that his first port of call upon his return would be Bear Island, though. The House of a minor lord of the North seemed a strange starting place for his return. Hours later, a pale but very calm Lyanna stood by the beach, watching as the _Silence_ moored in the distance and the ironborn came ashore in dozens of boats. 

Euron Greyjoy stood in the boat as it was rowed to short by half a dozen pale, emaciated men who barely glanced up in their duties. Pale and handsome with black hair and a black beard, he looked in some ways like a distorted and extremely malevolent version of Jon Snow. 

"My lady Mormont," he declared, springing ashore and coming before her,"You do me great honour. It was not necessary to come to greet me personally," he gave her a low, flourishing bow.

"It was the least I could do, even unannounced guests are greeted with courtesy," she replied coldly. His eyes raked over her, lingering in amusement on her leather tunic and trousers, the long boots and the plain, heavy cloak around her shoulders.

"I'm sad you didn't dress for the occasion, though , my lady," he mourned. "Trousers?" He looked over his shoulder at his men.

"Go and round up the villagers ," he ordered them. 

"My lord, we have not raised weapons – I request that you leave my people unharmed," Lyanna spoke him calmly.

"Not that I parley with women …" he murmured. "Round them up – only kill the ones who put up a fight," he ordered them coolly. "Now you and I will go somewhere where we can have a little talk, my lady," he told her, offering her his arm.

She took it calmly and he smiled broadly, his slate blue eyes dancing with amusement at her coldness. "While you are no beauty, there is something rather taking about your brassiness, my lady," he complimented her. "Makes a man long to tame that wildness."

They walked to the great hall and Greyjoy threw himself into a chair while ordering that beer and ale be poured for him.

"You'll drink it first of course, my lady. I wouldn't want to die puking up my guts because of poison in my belly," he told her.

"Then you'd best drink water for I don't drink beer or ale."

"You will tonight," he ordered her. "Lay your weapons over there," he ordered her and she walked over to the hearth and slowly and deliberately removed her daggers and put them on the mantle above the fire place.

"And the ones in your boots, too," he ordered her, smiling maliciously. She knelt down and removed the two knives in her boots, placing them on the mantle as well. "How old are you, girl?"

"Seventeen, my lord," she replied calmly before coming back to sit beside him.

He ran a gloved fingertip down her pale cheek slowly, grinning as she remained completely still.

"So we have some decisions to make, my lady Mormont. You surrender to me and I fuck you senseless – but I let your people live. Alternatively, you can fight me. I'll still fuck you but I'll gut every single one of the people on this island – man, woman and child, leaving them gasping for air like a dying fish, choking in their own blood."

"The iron price is truly a way without honour," she remarked coldly and he calmly backhanded her across the face, hard. 

"You'll learn that it's best for women such as you to keep your mouths shut," he told her smilingly. "There's no one here to help you … "

He made a gesture and his men walked in. Lyanna flinched as half a dozen dead ravens were flung onto the ground of the great hall. An unwilling sob escaped her throat as the bodies of the ravens were followed by the bleeding, crumpled bodies of men. "Messages that will never be received, love," he told her. "It's just you … and me …" He removed his gloves and touched her face again, this time with his bare hands. "I suggest you start to be more docile, my child. I could choose to make you my rock wife, my salt wife … or my thrall."

None of the choices was appealing in the slightest. She counted the bodies of the ravens and her men silently. The ironborn had not caught them all. Some had slipped through the net. There was still hope.

When Greyjoy leaned in to kiss her, she tried not to gag at the stench of the alcohol on his breath, tried not to recoil from his hand gripping at her breast cruelly.

"I think I'd prefer you in a women's clothing," he announced and insisted on walking with her chambers, selecting a gown for her which he flung at her.

"Change," he ordered. He had no intention of turning away or leaving the room. Face stony, she did not give him the pleasure of knowing how much his presence unsettled her and she removed her boy's clothing swiftly and changed into her dress as he watched her closely, his eyes darkening with desire as they lingered on her pale, silken skin and the slimness of her young body.

"I need your help to lace up my dress, my lord," she told him calmly, turning around and offering him her laces.

His mouth curved in reluctant admiration of her coolness under pressure and he tightened the laces of her dress, allowing his hand to slide up her body and cup her breasts. "Tits are on the small side, but they'll do," he told her, kissing the side of her throat. She resisted the urge to bury her elbow in his gut.

"Shall we return to the great hall, my lord? There's a fire there …"

"Scared of the bed?" he asked her with a laugh. "You're no safer in the hall. I can fuck you against the wall or on a table as easily as in a bed, my lady," he told her.

"The ale is in the great hall, too," she pointed out coldly and he laughed.

"You're a spirited wench," he said approvingly and walked with her downstairs to the great hall.

*  
Greyjoy continued drinking heavily. "Don't bother waiting for me to pass out, she-bear," he told her maliciously. "Ale is mother's milk to me."

"You have a mother?" Lyanna asked in mock astonishment and Greyjoy laughed and hit her again, knocking her to the ground where she took a moment to catch her breath. Both eyes were already swollen and throbbing in pain and her jaw was also aching from the number of times he'd hit her.

The doors burst open and booted feet ran in. "My lord – the ships are on fire!" one of his men declared.

Greyjoy swore beneath his breath. He ran to the window, flung aside the heavy curtains and pulled open the shutters and stared out at the sea where ship upon ship was blazing with uncontrolled flames. Even from where they stood, they could hear the screams, see Greyjoy's men leaping from the burning ships into the deep, merciless sea where they would probably freeze to death before reaching shore. Lyanna felt quiet pride blaze up within her at what her people had been able to achieve, sailing through the blackness of night and hurtling torches of burning oil onto the decks of the ships in Greyjoy's fleet.

"You little bitch, what have you done?" he demanded furiously, turning upon Lyanna who stood on her feet, swaying slightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my lord," she lied, reaching a hand up to wipe the blood trickling down from her nose and the cut in her split lip.

"I am going to take pleasure in slicing you to pieces," he hissed, picking up his dagger from the table. He glanced over at his men. "Games are over. Start killing the villagers," he ordered furiously.

"Do you really want to do that, my lord?" she demanded quietly. 

"It's what we do," he reminded her deliberately. "We conquer and we kill."

"The ironborn do not know how to hold castles and keeps … ask Theon Greyjoy – it's easy to conquer, much more difficult to hold. You know only how to plunder … not to keep and strengthen." It hurt to speak but she managed to bite out the words despite her aching jaw and throbbing mouth.

"And what is your solution?" he asked her grimly, sharpening his dagger as he spoke. 

"My people will fight for you if I command it … " she told him. "But if you kill me, if you kill my people – you will find yourself with nothing but a stone yoke around your neck that will choke you to death..."

"As I said, I don't parley with women," he told her and took a step towards her. 

In a swift motion, she unsheathed her sword from where it was hidden beneath the table in the great hall. Greyjoy's men stepped forward but he laughed and waved them off. 

"Do you really think you can fight me with that … bauble … and in a dress?" he demanded, looking amused at her audacity.

"Why not try me?" she suggested with a faint twist to her lips and her blade flicked out to slash the front of his tunic.

His own sword was drawn in seconds and there was a loud clatter of steel against steel. "Back my love," he urged her, gesturing that she move towards the door. "I might as well cut your throat in front of your people. A reminder of what happens to those who have ideas above their station."

She backed out the door and he followed her, his sword pointing towards her throat. Once outside, she glanced around quickly. Her people were backed against the wall in a corner of the courtyard, disarmed and many injured and bleeding. The sight angered her and she spun sharply and her blade clashed against Greyjoy's, making his brows rise at the force of her blow.

"Impressive," he murmured, reluctantly impressed. She pressed the advantage and lunged again. He parried and evaded her attack, but it took an effort. Her attack was aggressive and skilled, calculated and deliberate but he was the more powerful of the two and after a time, he began to push her backwards, his smile twisted and deadly.

"You are going to suffer so much before you die, little girl," he promised her. She bit back a cry as his blade snaked out and carved a line of red along her jaw. Her sword snapped up and pushed his away sharply, the pain giving her a second burst of strength.

"On your knees, bitch," he hissed at her, one final blow sending her sword spinning across the courtyard. Dully and slowly, Lyanna sank to her knees before him, the cold hard stones of the courtyard pressing into her knees.


	3. Farewell to Bear Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn Euron Greyjoy's fate.
> 
> Warnings: As with the previous chapter, there are references to violence and sexual assault. There is also reference to self-harm. The ironborn are pillagers so it's hard to write about them without alluding to difficult issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope people are still enjoying my take on Lyanna Mormont-Jon Snow! I'm certainly having a good time thinking about them and writing about them.

Adult Lyanna Mormont: [Kaya Scodelario](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1566209.html).

Swaying on her knees in the courtyard before the keep, Lyanna heard the impassioned and enraged shouts of her people … the sickening sound of metal slashing through flesh as some of her men and women tried to rush forward to defend their lady.

"No!" she called to them blindly. "Stay back," she ordered, her words thick and heavy, tears in her eyes as she saw Mara's body slump to the ground, punished for having attempted to defend her lady from Greyjoy's brutality. 

The pain from the sword cuts was almost unbearable and she could feel … _hear_ the blood pounding through her veins and out of her body … her the thud of her pulse grow louder and louder in her ears.

And then … suddenly … finally … she could hear a new sound – the whoosh of arrows hurtling through the air as Greyjoy's men fell to the ground around him. Greyjoy stared around wildly, looking for the source of the attack as arrows flew and the clang and clash of steel filled the air. The ironborn were no longer in control of the island…

Heavy booted feet walked steadily across the stones and rock of the courtyard and Lyanna looked up to see Jon Snow striding through the gateway, Longclaw in his hand and a face dark with an unchecked fury she had not seen since their battles against the Night King. Beside him, Ghost stood tall, eyes glowing red and lips drawn back from his teeth in a menacing growl. Archers stood behind Jon wearing the livery of House Glover, their arrows nocked and aimed at Greyjoy and his men.

Jon's eyes rested furiously on Lyanna who was keeping herself upright by sheer willpower alone. His dark eyes kindled as he noted her bleeding and swollen face and the red cuts across her arms and back where Greyjoy had slashed her with his word. The blood was soaking into the fabric of her dress and was dripping onto the stones of the courtyard. 

To her credit, Greyjoy himself had not escaped unscathed and he was bleeding profusely through a number of sword cuts on his arms and legs. 

An almost uncontrollable tide of rage burned in Jon's bloody, blurring his vision fierce and red. "You are going to die today, Greyjoy," Jon told him calmly, advancing on him even as his eyes burned hot and deadly.

"At your hands, bastard? Unlikely – I'll skewer you and then fuck the whey-faced girl over there so that you can watch while you bleed out … an ironborn bastard in her belly would be sweet revenge," he jeered as his sword flew through the air determinedly. 

At any other time, they might have been evenly matched for they stood shoulder to shoulder and were equally skilled in combat but Jon was further motivated by rage and vengeance. Every blow, thrust and parry seemed to have its strength multiplied and before long, it was Euron Greyjoy on his knees, his wounds deep and the blood frothing on his lips.

Before Jon could deliver the killing blow, his attention was caught by the sight of Lyanna. 

"Take him!" he ordered his men tersely, gesturing towards Greyjoy as he ran to Lyanna's side, dropping Longclaw and catching her up in his arms before she could hit the hard surface of the courtyard. Ghost came to stand before Euron, circling slowly, his growl coming in a low rumble as he waited for Euron to be bound.

Jon's eyes were more than a little wild and distraught as they stared down into Lyanna's bruised and bloody face. "Lyanna …" His fingers smoothed her tangled hair back from her battered face.

"How can you be here? I thought you would still be on your way to Winterfell … " she whispered hoarsely.

"One of your ravens made it to House Glover … he sent his riders to fetch us on the road to Winterfell … although judging by what I see out there, you hardly needed us …" he said indicating the ships that were still afire on the water, pride in his voice.

He rested his forehead against hers lightly, closing his eyes, overwhelmed with sheer relief at the fact that she was still alive. He had feared the worst.

*

_Earlier_

The sound of horses being driven hard through the woods made Jon and his sisters rein in their horses as they rode through the northern wolfswood and glance around in concern. These days there was less thievery on the Kingsroad but it was not unknown and footpads were occasionally seen in darker corners of the woods.

As the riders approached, Jon recognised the livery of House Glover with a frown on his face, dreading the inevitably ill tidings. "No, Ghost," he told his Dire Wolf who was preparing to leap at the newcomers to protect his master.

"My lord, we have news from Bear Island …"

"Speak!" Jon told them urgently, fear rising within him at their words.

"The ironborn are attacking – Lord Glover believes that Euron Greyjoy may be leading them …He has sent riders to Winterfell and neighbouring houses as well …"

Jon muttered an imprecation beneath his breath. "You," he said gesturing at one of the riders. "Ride with my sisters to Winterfell. You – does Lord Glover have his men ready to ride with me?"

"Yes my lord, our men are assembled on the road to Bear Island and are awaiting your command. 500 strong. We have no love for the ironborn…" The ironborn had also occupied Deepwood Motte when they had occupied Winterfell, further deepening the hatred towards the sea raiders. "The iron born will be watching the wharf, we must sail to one of the other inlets ..."

"No, I'm coming with you!" Arya tried to protest.

"No," Jon told her implacably. "Ride to Winterfell and stay there. Send Tormund to Bear Island, ask him to bring 500 of our men … the Cerwyns and Manderlys will have arrived for the feast – see how many can be spared to come to Bear Island. But you will stay at Winterfell," he told her firmly. He glanced at Sansa. "Make sure she listens to orders for once, Sansa."

Sansa shook her head. "Thank you for an almost impossible task, Jon," she told him even as worry darkened her eyes.

*

The remaining ironborn had surrendered with almost a token resistance and had been easily subdued by the Island folk and Jon's men. 

"I'm fine," Lyanna insisted, trying to resist Jon's attempts to assist her to walk.

"Really." He stared at her face with its two black eyes, cut and bruised mouth and the bloody slashes across her dress. "Let me call for Mara – "

"They killed her," Lyanna told him, pain in her eyes and hurting her throat.

"I'll call for the maester …"

"No … let him tend to the others – their injuries are far more grievous than mine…"

"You're bleeding."

"I've bled before … you've looked after me before, and I you … I don't need a maester for my wounds." 

_Only you_.

"Fine, then I'll tend to you myself," he agreed in a low voice, swinging her up into his arms carefully to avoid exacerbating her wounds and carrying her up the stairs despite her protests.

Jon placed her carefully on the edge of her bed and then crouched in front of her to wipe her face down gently with a cloth and hot water. She hissed in pain as he wiped the blood away. His dark eyes grew cold and shuttered as he looked at the long cut on her jaw. It wasn't so deep that it would require stitches, but it was deep enough that she would probably carry the scar until the day she died.

The water in the bowl deepened to red and he called for fresh water and a fire to be built in the fireplace. 

"Do you want me to stay, my lord?" the young girl from the village asked him wide-eyed and anxious.

"No, it's all right – I've played healer before," he told her and closed the doors to Lyanna's bedchamber. Silently, he helped her unlace her gown and slide the dress down her narrow shoulders. A muscle moved in his jaw as he saw the cuts across her upper body. During the war against the Night King, the two of them had become well-versed in battlefield first aid … but those had been combat injuries. Jon found it pained him greatly to think of Lyanna having been at the mercy of the sadistic Euron Greyjoy.

"Greyjoy … I know he hurt you … but did he – " he wasn't sure how to ask the question.

She shook her head. "He did not. I have no doubt he intended to, but you arrived in time …"

"Come sit by the fire, it's warmer," he told her gently and she moved to the footstool before the fire and sat there awkwardly, dark hair falling about her face and her arms crossed in front of her body. With gentle hands, he twisted her hair away from her face and tied it up loosely so that it did not get in the way of his ministrations. 

He carefully washed the cuts on her back and arms before gently lowering her hands so that he could clean the slashes on her chest. As he wiped away the blood, she bit her lip in pain. "I am so sorry, Lyanna," he told her apologising for the pain he was inflicting, not even bothering to avert his eyes even though a part of him found that he was shocked that the little girl had grown up before his eyes and become a woman without him even realising it. The fifteen year old who had ridden beside him on the battlefield had been as thin and flat-chested as a boy. He really wasn't quite sure where this young woman with her curved hips, full breasts and rosy nipples had come from and he also wasn't quite sure how he felt about her suddenly replacing his friend Lyanna.

Putting aside all unsettling thoughts, he applied a calendula salve to her injuries. After wrapping a light bandage around her injuries, he helped her put on a light shift that would not chafe against her wounds.

"Is this all right?" he asked her huskily and she nodded silently.

"Thank you for coming back," she whispered, resting her hands on his shoulders lightly. He pressed his forehead against hers for one long wordless moment. Sadly, her forehead was the only part of her poor face that was without injury or hurt.

"There is no need to thank me … I only regret that I was not able to arrive sooner … now I must go and attend to Greyjoy … "

Lyanna started to rise, too and Jon frowned. "No, you don't have to … I can manage this …" he told her.

She shook her head, her smile very twisted. "It's my duty to attend to this matter, Jon …"

*

Euron Greyjoy waited on his knees before the tree stump in the forest, blue eyes defiant despite his vulnerable position. 

"I am sorry my lady but the only just punishment for what he has done is death," Jon told Lyanna harshly, his face cold and implacable. Lyanna inclined her head slightly.

"By rights this action should be the lady's, but in deference to her injuries, I have requested the honour of administering justice in her place," Jon announced to all present.

Jon looked towards Lyanna who nodded. She watched calmly and unflinchingly as Jon Snow beheaded Euron Greyjoy, captain of the _Silence_ and the eldest of Lord Balon Greyjoy's younger brothers. She watched as Greyjoy's severed head rolled to the ground and his eyes stared ahead sightlessly. She watched as a grim-faced Jon wiped Longclaw's blade clean of the ironborn's blood before resheathing his sword. While the act had given him no pleasure, he had derived a deep satisfaction from knowing that Greyjoy would trouble them no more. 

A dozen more men were shoved forward and flung to the soft turf of the forest. "These bastards raped women in the village, my lady," Ser Lonnell told her. "Two of the girls have taken their own lives. The rest are being cared for by the maester …"

"The women have confirmed the identities of the perpetrators?" she asked him.

"It took place in plain sight of all, my lady," Ser Lonnell told her. "In front of their husbands, children … brothers and sisters … "

"The punishment for your crimes is death," Lyanna repeated softly, her head lowered in grief. Jon nodded at Tormund. The tall, burly member of the freefolk stepped forward, wielding his great axe with almost unholy relish.

"You don't have to stay for this, Lyanna," Jon told her urgently.

"Was it not you who told me that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword? If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. I'm not even swinging the sword or axe – the least I can do is stay …"

"You're not a Stark and are not bound by the rules of my family …" He looked down, very startled as Lyanna sought out his hand and clutched it convulsively as she stared at the condemned men in the glade.

"Do it," she ordered Tormund, who obliged with just a little too much gusto and enthusiasm. Every time his axe fell, Lyanna flinched but she continued to stare ahead, her hand tightening around Jon's so hard that he knew that her grip would leave marks. 

Bodies of the ironborn were also washing up on the shore and the Island folk were out in fishing boats on the water retrieving bodies that still floated, swollen and bloated in the cold black water. Combined with the bodies of the Bear Island folk, the island felt like a graveyard. 

When the executions were finally over, Lyanna gave orders for the bodies of the executed to be taken to one of the ships that still remained afloat. 

She stared at the remaining ironborn who stood before her, their pale dirty faces a mixture of fear and defiance. 

"Those who wish to give up the old ways … who wish to find a new and better life – you are welcome to remain on Bear Island where there is no iron price. You will be prisoners and under watch, and you will work our land and the seas … but you will be fed and treated well … After two years, if you have proven yourselves worthy – then you shall be freed, given land and a place to live on our island … For the others who choose not to remain, you are to go back to your ships, take the bodies of your dead - and return to the Iron Isles – never to return here again."

"But Lady Mormont – " Ser Lonnell started to protest. 

Lyanna held up a hand. "Those are my wishes."

"Thank you my lady," one of the young men muttered, falling to his knees before her and clutching at the hem of her dress.

"You should go back to Winterfell," she told Jon as they watched the island folk herd those of the ironborn who had elected to stay into the village.

"Sansa and Bran will host the festivities in my absence," he told her.

"I can walk," she muttered as he picked her up again and carried her to the shoreline. A small number of ironborn had chosen to leave with their dead and they were rowed out to their ships by the Island folk.

Jon and Lyanna watched the ships sail away, leaving behind the burning wreckages of the ships who had been destroyed by Bear Island. The smell of burning wood, oil and flesh would linger like a black haze above the island for several days to come until the ice winds of the north came.

"Your idea?" he asked her and she nodded, her pale face serious. It hurt Jon's heart to see her bruised and swollen face. Her face barely recognisable beneath the injuries and he could see the cut along her jaw line was bleeding sluggishly again.

"I guessed that he would send the bulk of his forces ashore to help him take the island … so his ships would be vulnerable … especially to fire." She covered her face momentarily. "So many dead …" she whispered. "I had hoped we had seen an end to death on such scale …"

Jon put his arm about her narrow shoulders. The words that she expressed resonated with him more than she could possibly know. "My whole life ... I feel like I have gone from one battlefield to another … I've seen my family die … my Brothers of the Night Watch … my men …"

"And Ygritte…" she told him gently.

"And Ygritte," he agreed, sadness in his voice as he remembered the fierce wildling girl with her hair touched by fire. "Even I died at one point," he said twisted smile. "Coming back diminished … far less than I was …"

"I find that very hard to believe, my lord," she told him earnestly and Jon felt a spark of warmth kindle in his breast at her words. Through all the years, the Lady of Bear Island had stood firm and steadfast, believing in him in ways that no one else ever had. Sometimes, she had believed in him when even he had lost faith in himself.

"Let's return to the keep, my lady," he told her, ignoring her irritable protests and picking her up again.

*

Jon sent a raven south, begging the Queen's indulgence, asking that he might delay his journey south while he assisted Bear Island and its lady to recover from the attack by the ironborn. Daenerys had no love of Euron Greyjoy and suffered him to remain a little while longer, although her return missive did took pains to remind him of his obligations to his sovereign.

"I'm all right, Jon – you should go," Lyanna told him firmly. "You wouldn't want to anger the queen …"

"No. I'll stay a while longer. Until you're recovered, until I've had a chance to speak with every wretched ironborn you have permitted to remain on your island." 

Lyanna sighed. "I am safe … we are safe… " Jon was insisting on keeping more than two hundred of Winterfell's men garrisoned on the island with men on standby at other keeps during his impending absence from the North in the unlikely event of another attack on the island.

Arya, Sam and Gilly were back on Bear Island as soon as they had received a raven from Jon that it was safe to return. Arya and Gilly had been in tears at the loss of their friends and were visibly horrified by Lyanna's injuries. Sansa arrived a short time after the others to provide what assistance she could in the wake of the incident.

"And the girls who were … attacked?" she asked quietly.

"The maester has seen to their injuries," Lyanna told her. "And those who chose, were given a tisane to drink to ensure no unwanted babies were born …"

"But what of their spirits?" Sansa asked her. "Is anyone providing comfort to them?"

Lyanna shook her head mutely, eyes miserable. "Most do not want to speak of the matter at all …"

Sansa took the initiative and arranged for … sewing sessions.

"Needlework?" Arya demanded in disgust. "How is _that_ going to help anyone with anything?"

Sansa gave her a pitying look. "When we sew – we talk … of many matters …" In curiosity, Lyanna herself attended one of the sewing sessions, sitting down with a crumpled patch of silk on her lap, watching as the girls around her stitched awkwardly, mopping at their eyes and mostly sitting in silence, but occasionally telling of nightmares and remembered fears.

"And how was it?" Jon asked her later that evening when he waited outside Sansa's sewing cottage when Lyanna emerged, pale and exhausted with all the emotion and grief she had heard during the session.

"Good I think … I should try not to underestimate Sansa in future … she is wiser than we give her credit for."

He smiled. "I've learned not to underestimate my sister. She is a formidable woman – terrifying even."

"Does Littlefinger still pursue her?" The smile vanished from Jon's eyes. 

"It would appear so. I am not sure why she is not more firm in her rejection of his advances."

"He makes my skin crawl," Lyanna announced with a shudder. 

"He is not a good man," Jon agreed. "He has had the grace to avoid Winterfell, although with my departure south, I have no doubt he will find an excuse to return north again."

"Perhaps I shall ask the Lady Sansa to remain with me – for company … and to look after the women who were attacked … Littlefinger may find the waters to Bear Island very difficult to cross – we shall be very wary of strangers following recent events of course …"

That made Jon smile again and he reached up a hand to brush Lyanna's dark hair from her face. "And you say my sister is wise …"

*

"I thank you Lord Glover for your swift actions. There is no doubt that you saved the life of many people," Jon remarked as he stood at Deepwood Motte, House Glover's castle, located in the northwestern wolfswood. The older man inclined his head respectfully as he walked with Jon Snow through the hallways of House Glover.

"Thank you for your kind words, my lord," Robett Glover told him in a low voice, deeply moved by his liege's praise. "I was honoured to have been able to finally provide you with assistance."

Jon laughed. "You've done more that over the years, Robett – no one could have been a better advisor … a braver fighter … we did some damage against the Night King," he reminded the lord who smiled. 

"Indeed we did, sir…"

The words remained unspoken between them. _I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness._

Since that day, Robett Glover and his house had kept faith with their lord's declaration of allegiance to House Stark. Even the knowledge of Jon Snow's Targaryen blood had not shaken House Glover's fierce loyalty for Jon had proved time and time again that he was a leader to be followed – to be trusted and loved.

"I am glad that Greyjoy is dead and that his reign of terror is at an end," Glover told his lord soberly. "House Glover has suffered greatly at the hands of the ironborn over the years."

"Yara and Theon have sent a raven that they will increase their efforts to stamp out the old ways … no more reaving and raiding parties will attack the Houses of the North … Bear Island and Deepwood Motte can, I hope, hear no more from the kraken beneath the water," Jon informed his vassal lord.

"I hope that that may be true, my lord. Will you not stay and sup with us?" he asked.

"No, I think a meal is being prepared for me at Mormont Keep as we speak. I merely came because I wished to express my gratitude in person." To the surprise of the older man, Jon dispensed with formality and embraced him as though he were kin.

Robbett's eyes shone with unshed tears and he lowered his head in gratitude and respect. "House Glover remains honoured to serve you my lord."

"And we are the better for your support, Robbett," Jon told him warmly. The two walked from the keep towards Jon's horse that was being walked by a stable-hand.

"My lord , if I might crave one more moment of your time."

"By all means,"Jon invited him as he took the reins of his horse from the stable-hand.

"It's regarding the matter of Lady Mormont , my lord."

Jon turned his head swiftly, interest immediately captured. "I am aware that she has been receiving offers of marriage from the Northern houses. To date, we have no received no word from her on whether she looks kindly upon my son Gawen."

Jon's face become expressionless. "Oh? I wasn't aware he had made her an offer."

"Yes, together with an offer of 150 pigs. We were sure that it would be more attractive than whatever Manderly could offer …"

"No word you say?'

"None at all – I wonder my lord … I would not presume to have you use your influence … but if perhaps you could ascertain her preferences? I would be most grateful."

"Has your son an affection for the Lady Lyanna?" Jon asked curiously, an odd expression in his dark eyes.

"He finds her very handsome and most impressive. Would you care to hear his poem?"

"Uh – I really must be away. But I shall speak with Lady Mormont …" he cleared his throat. "As you have requested."

"Thank you my lord, I would be most grateful. And when you are away south, as promised – I shall have my men on alert should there be any more problems encountered by Bear Island."

"Thank you, Lord Gover," Jon told him as he mounted his horse and rode back to Bear Island, his head reeling from the recent conversation.

*

The day of Jon's departure for the south came too soon and he hugged his tearful sisters farewell. "I will ride for Winterfell first to speak with Bran and Ser Davos and then I shall ride south," he informed Sansa. Both girls were naturally anxious, clearly remembering the last time the Stark family had ridden south and the troubles that had plagued them since.

"It almost destroyed us as a family," Sansa muttered.

"Things are different now … there is peace … " Jon pointed out.

"But why do you have to go?" Arya demanded in frustration. "You belong in the North …"

"Peace is still new … Queen Daenerys has asked me to travel the lands with her to allow the people to see that the lands are truly united - that the Mother of Dragons has our support."

"So you're going to be trotted out like a trained monkey, is what you're telling me," Arya pointed out impudently.

"If there's any monkey in this family, it's you," Jon told her affectionately, rumpling her hair and pulling her against him for another embrace. "Look after one another. I shall send you ravens whenever I am able."

"Protect the Lady Lyanna while I am away," Jon told Tormund and the Lady Brienne gravely as they walked with him to the gateway. 

"Of course my lord, please do not allow concerns for her welfare to trouble you while you are away," Brienne told him earnestly. 

"If those fucking squids come back, I'll make them sorry," Tormund growled menacingly. The wildling still eschewed Northern clothing and chose to wear his people's traditional skins. Jon Snow's followers were a motley crowd and even Tormund's wild clothing didn't raise more than a casual eyebrow. In contrast, Lady Brienne was as neat as a pin in her armour and scarlet cape. Now and then she could be persuaded by Sansa to wear a dress, but that was a truly rare event.

"Bran and Sansa will continue to hold regular council meetings at Winterfell … only one of you should attend at a time … I need someone I trust here at all times," Jon told them both, his eye on the dark-haired young woman who stood next to his horse, holding its reins and alternating between patting the horse and also stroking Ghost between his ears.

"Any other instructions for us, my lord?" Brienne asked respectfully.

"Oh – and don’t let her marry anyone while I'm away. Apparently there are offers on the table – accompanied by extravagant promises of pigs and chickens."

"Which is only right," Tormund announced. 

"Just don't let her head get turned by offers of livestock while I'm gone," Jon muttered beneath his breath.

"You intending to bring back rubies and gold from your travels with the Mother of Dragons?" Tormund demanded sardonically.

"Are you done plotting?" Lyanna asked him as he walked towards her. He was dressed somberly, heavy leather tunic and overcoat of black, heavy leather boots of black - the only splash of colour being a gleam of dark green in the linen smock he wore beneath his leather tunic. His black, wavy hair was tied back from his face, revealing his strong features and grim expression. His beard was neatly trimmed and she could see his firm lips curve in a smile.

"No idea what you're talking about, my lady," he replied, taking the reins from her.

"I'm not a child anymore – to be coddled," she reminded him as they began walking to the bridge together. It was not a short walk and just the start of his long journey. 

"Sure you're up to this?" he asked her in concern and she gave him a withering look. 

"I'm also not an invalid, Jon," she told him. Her hair was drawn back from her face in a style that inadvertently mirrored the first time he had met her – black hair pulled back severely into a long pony-tail and parted in the middle. Gone was the scowling child's face with its flashing dark eyes and small pursed mouth. In her place was a willful young woman with dark eyes and full lips pressed into a tight line. The bruises on her face had faded to a comical green and purple, giving her the look of a rather battered child of the forest. The cut on her jaw was still an angry red that caused a blood vessel to throb in Jon's temple when he thought about how she had come by it.

Despite the banter, the air of parting hung heavy on them both. In six years, they had grown accustomed to regular dealings and frequent visits. This would be the first time since she was a child that he had gone away for so very long. Even in the war against the Night King, she had ridden alongside him into battle despite still being a child.

When he had ridden south to petition the Mother of Dragons, she had accompanied his other lords to demonstrate the support of the Northern Houses. The separation was likely to prove trying for both of them.

When they finally arrived at the Bear Island bridge that would take Jon towards the wharf for the ship to take him to the mainland, the sentries moved aside to allow them to cross the bridge, bowing deferentially towards both. At the side of the bridge closest to the mainland, Jon paused. "I'll send you ravens where I can," he promised. "You may not be able to always get word to me, though - as I've no idea where'll be in the kingdoms … " he told her ruefully

He reached out and touched the frown that was starting to form between her dark brows. "I'll miss your counsel, Lady Bear – and you," he confessed.

He couldn't stop the deepening frown and she reached up and her fingertips touched the wolf now carved into Longclaw that rested against Jon's chest. "I told you years ago that the Mormonts had carried Longclaw in our House for more than five hundred years…" 

He nodded. "House Mormont has saved my life on more occasions than I care to name, my lady," he told her with a rueful smile curving his mouth.

"May it continue to protect you, my lord," she told him with a smile. "And I, too [have the blade you gave me so long ago](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7337893/chapters/16848835)," she told him and he reached down and drew the sword of Valyrian steel from where it was sheathed at her side.

"The best swords have names, you do know that don't you?" he asked her.

"It has a name," she said in a low voice. "It's always had a name.' Her tone was diffident, almost shy.

"You never told me that," he remarked, a startled note to his voice as he held up the blade to the light and watched it gleam. He handed the sword back to her and watched her sheath it with the practised air of a warrior. "What is its name?" he asked her urgently, his dark eyes not moving from her face, intrigued by her uncharacteristic downcast glance, the thickness of her lashes masking the look in her eyes and the faintest hint of red colouring her pale cheeks.

"Snow," she told him finally. "Its name is Snow." As she spoke, her gaze lifted and met his eyes squarely and unflinchingly, a trace of boldness in her glance.

Jon caught his breath momentarily and would have stretched out his hand to touch her but she took a step beyond his reach and stood on the bridge, the wind billowing her cloak and pulling her hair from its severe pony-tail.

"Walk back with her to the keep," he ordered one of the sentries who bowed low in acknowledgment.

"Safe travels, Jon Snow. Bear Island awaits your return," she told him steadily, the flush still on her pale skin as a long look passed between them, a sudden sense of - realisation or acknowledgment. 

He turned and saw that she was watching him leave. Her hand lifted in a gesture of farewell and with an ache he turned away and made his way to the wharf and towards the mainland.


	4. The Seven Kingdoms and Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven years later and Jon Snow would be grateful to never have to set foot on a ship again. The last year had been spent travelling across the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities in the company of Queen Daenerys herself, Tyrion Lannister the Hand of the Queen, Yara Greyjoy the Lord of the Iron Islands and Ellaria Sand the leader of the House of Dorne. Only Lady Olenna Tyrell of House Tyrell had declined to participate, pleading ill health and age.

Adult Lyanna Mormont: [Kaya Scodelario](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1566209.html).

_Seven years later_ and Jon Snow would be grateful to never have to set foot on a ship again. The last year had been spent travelling across the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities in the company of Queen Daenerys herself, Tyrion Lannister the Hand of the Queen, Yara Greyjoy the Lord of the Iron Islands and Ellaria Sand the leader of the House of Dorne. Only Lady Olenna Tyrell of House Tyrell had declined to participate, pleading ill health and age.

Despite its name, the Seven Kingdoms was a realm divided into nine administrative regions and Daenerys' entourage had visited the crownlands, Dorne, the Iron Islands, the north, the Reach, the riverlands, the stormlands, the Vale of Arryn, and the westerlands before moving onto visit each of the Free Cities. It had been a spectacle carefully orchestrated to demonstrate to the world that Daenerys had the support of her vassals and that they remained united in her claim to the Iron Throne.

When the Queen and her retinue had finally returned to King's Landing after almost a year away, Jon had felt a profound and deep relief that their journey was almost at an end. He had behaved exactly as had been expected of him - the deferential and loyal subject but the year had taken its toll on him. It had been too long since he had been back to the North, seen his brothers and sisters. It had been far too long since he had last seen Lyanna. 

A year away gave a man time to think and introspect. Whenever they had arrived in a new port, his first thought had always been to find news of home, which unfortunately made him somewhat beholden to Varys, the Master of Whisperers. Varys had an almost supernatural network of spies and ravens that allowed him to send and receive information. Nonetheless, thanks to Varys he knew that Winterfell and Bear Island were safe and without peril.

Jon leaned back in the bath and closed his eyes, enjoying the steam and the hot water that surrounded him. He wasn't as enamoured of the flower petals that had been strewn in the water but there was little to be done about that. He grimaced as he heard the sound of feminine giggles in the adjoining room – he couldn't tell who was being entertained. It might have been any of them, with the exception of Varys.

His companions had certainly made the most of their journey – Tyrion, Yara, Ellaria and even Daenerys herself frequenting the many brothels and bawdy houses of Volantis, Pentos and Braavos to indulge in the sensual delights offered by the women and the men in such establishments. They had all been very puzzled when Jon Snow had elected not to join them in their pursuit of pleasure.

"Come now, bastard – you are no longer a sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. That cock of yours can find some happiness now …"

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion, but I must decline," Jon had told the dwarf on numerous occasions during the course of the year. Tyrion had found it hard to understand or even believe Jon's self-imposed celibacy that as far as he was concerned was entirely without reason.

"If you don't use it Snow, you might forget how," Tyrion had told him, only half-jokingly. When the young Northerner refused to accompany him to brothels, he attempted in vain to render Jon drunk, assuming that this would cause the young man to release his inhibitions to the wind.

His failure to corrupt his companion piqued him and Jon had to endure many a night when random naked women (and men) were sent to his bedchamber in an attempt to tempt him into dalliance. There had been more than one instance when he had been awoken from his sleep by some strange prostitute fondling his cock.

"You may keep the room, my lady (or sir)," he would tell them in polite resignation as he would get to his feet, pull on his clothes and go to sleep onboard the ship, driven once again from his room by the perfumed temptresses sent by the ever incorrigible and infinitely mischievous Tyrion Lannister.

"Are you some kind of eunuch, boy?" Tyrion had demanded in exasperation. "No you can't be, the delightful Sarissa assured me that she felt a cock last night and it actually got hard beneath her fingers – until you woke up and promptly left the room with her still in it …"

Jon much preferred it when the Lannister sat and talked with him of politics, history or his own jaded philosophies rather than try to tempt him with women and had told him as much. "My lord, at the risk of appearing ungrateful, I think your coin would be better spent on things other than sending courtesans to my bedchamber…"

Eventually, Tyrion gave up, even though he never really understood Jon Snow's reasons for resisting. It simply made no sense to him. The boy wasn't religious. He was no longer a member of the Night's Watch. He was unmarried and not betrothed to anyone, as far as Tyrion knew.

For Jon's part, he preferred to pass the time sparring with Grey Worm and Yara, learning new techniques and skills with the blade from the Unsullied and the Lord of the Iron Islands.

"To whom do you send your ravens and messages?" Tyrion had asked him curiously one day when he saw Jon writing yet another letter. "They surely can't all go to Winterfell."

"A great many go to the young lady of Bear Island," Lord Varys had commented with a smug and very knowing smile that irritated Jon tremendously. He had absolutely no doubt that the enigmatic Master of Whisperers read many if not all of his messages, the price paid for using Varys' extensive network to send messages.

"Really, how very interesting," Tyrion had mused, leaning back in his seat, staring narrowly at Jon who met his gaze squarely. "Is she a great beauty?" he had demanded.

"Not at all," Varys had replied with an amused titter. "While not quite as grotesque as her mother or some of her sisters, the young Lady of Bear Island is reputed to be extraordinarily unremarkable – bordering on plain in fact …"

Jon had kept his face expressionless, aware that both men were studying him closely and with great curiosity.

"You surprise me greatly, Lord Varys – as does our pretty young friend here," Tyrion had mused. "And what think you of young Lady Mormont's appearance, Snow?" Tyrion had asked Jon with great fascination.

"You bring discredit upon yourselves with your idle and low speculation about the Lady Lyanna," Jon had answered him coldly.

"Lady Lyanna – was she the precocious young child who gave you 62 fighting men for your battle against Ramsay Bolton?" Tyrion had demanded, bursting into laughter. "62 stalwart men against the thousands in his army?"

"That were her," Jon had acknowledged grimly. "She stood by my side when the other Houses refused to answer the call. Without her I'd have had no chance of winning at all …"

"My, my, the lad does seem rather smitten, plain or not …" Tyrion had remarked to Varys who had merely smiled his serenely complacent smile.

Jon had realised that he'd said too much - knowledge and information were power in the hands of these two scheming individuals and he had made his escape.

Now as he soaked in the bath, enjoying his rare solitude, his eyes opened when another person entered the hot chamber and stood by the bath expectantly. Daenerys Targaryen, as naked as the day she was born waited at the water's edge calmly, her stillness and pose boldly inviting Jon's eyes to travel down her body that was undeniably perfect in its beauty… the fullness of her breasts and hips, the soft elegance of the way her skin welcomed a man's touch.

With long blonde hair that covered nothing, she entered the water slowly, every step and gesture designed to enable him to appreciate her loveliness. Her smile was slow and extremely inviting, her full lips in a seductive pout that any other man would have found irresistible.

"Enjoying your bath, Jon Snow?" she asked him. "I hope you don't mind if I join you…"

"Good evening, your majesty," he greeted her matter-of-factly, his voice calm and unruffled. "It's nice to have a nice long soak after a few days on the road … " he remarked and Daenerys wondered if he would begin to discuss weather patterns or grain prices next.

"Indeed," she agreed and came to sit beside him. "So much work for us both … and so little time for … other things …" her small hand reached out and curled around him boldly. She made an approving sound low in her throat, noting the length and width of him.

He barely moved, but kept his face polite. "I look forward to returning to the North, soon. Our travels have been eye-opening, but I'm a simple man who prefers the comforts of home."

Daenerys' studiedly seductive smile faded slightly. "One would think you hadn't enjoyed my company, Jon Snow," she chided him, her hand moving up and down the length of him in a practised manner. There was a small, almost negligible response to her skilful ministrations and she frowned a little. She was fully aware of his self-denial during the past year, but she had never offered _herself_ to him and it shocked her now to realise that her advances were being rejected.

"Do you prefer men, Jon Snow?" she asked him bluntly.

"No, your majesty."

"Did the Night's Watch do something to …this?" she asked, giving a gentle tug at him and his firm mouth curved into an amused smile.

"Not at all, your majesty. I can assure you that it works perfectly when it needs to."

"Most men would have me on my back by now and be enjoying what I'm offering you …"

"Thank you your majesty … I'm not most men. Apologies - I mean you no offence."

"Have you ever lain with a woman?" She asked him curiously.

"Yes… and she's gone now…" he said quietly. His mouth curved in a small, wry smile. "Though no longer with the Night's Watch, it's not been difficult to continue to maintain my vows of celibacy…."

Dany's brows rose sharply. "Is your heart promised to another?" she asked him and released his uncooperative cock with a slightly frustrated expression on her lovely face. He didn't answer. "Well at least make yourself useful and soap my back," she ordered him imperiously, pushing her hair aside and offering him her slender and shapely back.

Obediently, he lathered up the sponge and began to wash her back as she glanced back at him over her shoulder, awaiting his answer to her question. Jon Snow continued to remain silent.

"I see. Does the lady in question return your affections?"

"Unlikely."

"She must be simple-minded."

Jon laughed. "Not at all, your majesty. I've known her many years …since she was 11 in fact, seen her grown up through the years .. it's recently that I've noticed that …"

"Yes yes that she's a woman. You realise that 11 is not that young – many girls are married off at 11 and 12. I was married at 13 after all."

"I suspect she regards me more in the light of an older brother. And yes, majesty – I am well aware of Targaryen marriage … customs."

"Well, the Targaryens have been marrying brothers and sisters for generations …the Lannisters also seem to have no objection to a brother-sister coupling."

Jon Snow winced. "It is not like that, your majesty. We're not actually related by blood or even adoption ... merely years of familiarity …"

"She must be blind if she doesn’t have her eye on you," Daenerys pointed out.

"Thank you, your majesty. My lady is very honourable. Protective of her people. Direct… "

"Well if she doesn’t want you, I'll have you. You and I side by side on the Iron Throne – Fire and Ice. Just imagine what we could do …" Daernerys brought her face closed to his, her smile slow and seductive as she brushed her mouth against his. She cupped her mouth and kissed him more deeply, her tongue sliding past his lips to deepen the kiss. She drew back when he again failed to show any sign of a response to her overtures other than an expression of rueful apology.

"I've never had any aspirations towards the Iron Throne, your majesty. You have my support and allegiance … and undying gratitude for what you did in the battle against the Night King … but I am not a king."

"The blood in your veins, would indicate otherwise, nephew."

"Another reason why you and I would not be suited."

She gave a laugh. "Didn't I just tell you that being related is no impediment to marriage for the Targaryens?"

"I'm not a Targaryen."

"The way my dragons responded to you tells me otherwise," she told him, running a tapering fingertip down his bare forearm lingeringly. Dragon. Rhaegal and Viserion were gone. Only Drogon remained ... 

"I was born a man of the North … " he insisted. "Who we are is not only what we are born into – we also choose what and who we want to be…"

"Then stop beating about the bush with this girl then – tell her how you feel. Consider that a command from your queen," Daenerys told him, moving away and throwing the sponge at his head in a fit of pique. "And that if she doesn't take you, then I'll keep you here as my lover and order you to service me - I can't endure waste."

He caught the sponge before it hit his head and laughed despite himself.

*

While in King's Landing, Jon felt compelled to call in on a fellow soldier and comrade in arms.

"Leave me alone," a slurred voice called out and Jon evaded the empty skin of wine that was thrown at his head as he entered the darkened chambers of the Kingslayer.

"Ser Jaime," he said respectfully.

"Oh it's you," Jaime Lannister remarked, a flicker of recognition in his bloodshot eyes. "The King in the North himself. What an honour. Have you come to recruit me for some great cause again? Save the world? Kill the undead?"

"No … just came to see how you were," Jon replied, standing in the doorway. His nose twitched. The room stank of stale alcohol and stale sweat. Jaime Lannister's once beautiful , golden face was red and swollen, lips almost blue from too much drinking.

"Well now you've seen me – you can go. Thank you for the visit," Jaime told him extravagantly as he poured himself another glass of wine.

"There's someone I think would like to see you again. I can't invite you to Winterfell … that would be … insensitive towards my brother Bran … but Lady Brienne is often at Bear Island … you would be welcome there, if you are able to take the time to come and visit."

There was a flicker in Jaime's eyes. Then he retched. Jon was able to get the Kingslayer to the privy in time and hold the man in place as he vomited violently, an unpleasant sight he was able to endure with some equanimity given how familiar he was with the sight during his travels around the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion and Yara had both been violent heavers after having imbibed too much alcohol.

"Is she well?" Jaime demanded hoarsely as he leaned back in his chair, gasping slightly and wiping his mouth with the back of hand.

"Yes … but I think she'd be glad of the visit from an old friend," Jon told him honestly.

"Damn you … damn you to hell. Why couldn't you just leave me here to drink myself to death as I'd planned?"

"Time enough for that later," Jon suggested.

"And what of you? Daenerys convinced you to marry her yet? Or even just fuck her?" Jaime asked him crudely.

Jon drew an envelope from his sleeve. "When you visit Bear Island, perhaps I could trouble you to deliver a letter to the Lady Lyanna? I am unfortunately unable to leave Kings Landing as soon as I hoped…"

Jaime took the letter from him and shrugged. "As you wish."

*

"Ser Jaime," Lyanna exclaimed with genuine pleasure as she dismounted from her horse at the bridge and came to stand beside the tall Lannister. His hair was still as gold as a minted coin and although his features were slightly blurred from the alcohol and his eyes still bloodshot, he was greatly improved in appearance from when Jon had encountered him. To Lyanna, he looked almost as handsome and imposing as the first time she had encountered him some years earlier.

"My lady," Jaime said politely. "The years have been kind," he told her honestly. He hadn't expected the stern and scrappy young child to have turned into this smiling, dark-eyed young woman with the cloud of midnight hair.

"Why are you standing at the bridge? Come through to the keep," she invited him, her dark eyes lively with curiosity and interest. She knew him well for they had fought many, many battles together in the war against the Night King. She knew his dubious and chequered past, but she had an immense gratitude to him for his contribution to the fight against the second long night. He had saved her life on numerous occasions during the war – and she his.

"I did not wish to be so bold, my lady … I can appreciate that I might not be welcome here …" He handed her a note and Lyanna's eyes brightened as she recognised Jon Snow's handwriting. She read it swiftly and tucked it into her pocket before smiling, reaching out and taking Jaime's hand in a friendly and familiar fashion.

"Lady Arya will be so pleased that Lady Brienne's dear friend has come that she will forget to stick you with the pointy end of her sword, I am sure," she assured him. He looked startled as he stared down at the small hand that tucked into his so trustingly.

"So Jon Snow is still with Queen Daenerys?" Lyanna asked lightly.

"Yes … he is attending her council meetings at Kings Landing … and resisting the considerable pressure to become her consort."

"Oh."

"My man Bron would have had something to say about it … probably something very vulgar and obscene …" Jaime's eyes darkened with the sadness of his memories. They'd all lost dear friends – Bron's death had hit Jaime very hard and he still missed the man's terse and usually filthy commentary on life.

"Take our horses, please," Lyanna requested of the stable hands and then took Ser Jaime into the village.

"Lady Brienne helps to teach our people how to fight … but today, I think she and Gilly are with the children learning a different type of dance," Lyanna told him with a mischievous smile.

Brienne was in a deep emerald tunic made for her by Sansa and she was standing amidst the village children looking like a positively enormous tree in the forest as Gilly showed all of them how to dance along to a melody that she was humming tunefully.

Brienne looked awkward and out of place, but she was laughing and the children were clinging to her dress as she spun with them. Lyanna glanced over at Jaime Lannister and was shocked to find that he was staring at Brienne with tears gleaming in his eyes, his mouth pressed tight as if to stop it from trembling.

It was as Lady Brienne was twirling and laughing that she suddenly caught a glimpse of the newcomer and she stopped abruptly, her large blue eyes widening with shock.

"Careful – you'll tread on an infant like the clumsy oaf you are," Jaime called out to her and stepped forward to whisk two small children out of harm's way.

"Ser Jaime!" Lady Brienne gasped, colour flooding into her pale cheeks as she met his steady gaze nervously. "How come you to be here?" she asked him.

"By horse ... And by ship," he replied unhelpfully.

"At the invitation of Jon," Lyanna informed them. "You are very welcome. I'll have a bed chamber made up for you, Ser Jaime. Lady Brienne will show you around."

*

Arya sat beside Lyanna on the grassy lookout overlooking the sea, drawing her knees up to her body and wrapping her arms around her legs as she rested her chin on her knees.

"Why would Jon send Jaime Lannister to Bear Island?" Arya demanded hotly, her large eyes kindling with outrage.

"Did you see how happy the Lady Brienne looks?"

"Yes - she's not as sensible as I gave her credit for."

Lyanna gave her a long look. "Perhaps your brother brought Ser Jaime to Bear Island for the same reason he brought you here," Lyanna remarked.

"So you're going to make Ser Jaime fish ... pick flowers ... cut wood like you made me?"

"No. You are," Lyanna told her with coolly. "You are going to help him ... help himself."

"Why would I do that? After everything he's done …"

"Because it is my wish that you do so," Lyanna told her gently but firmly.

*

Jaime came awake swearing loudly as a cup of icy cold water was poured on his head.

"Good morning - wake up Ser Jaime." He blinked into the light blearily, staring into the hostile face of Arya Stark who was standing above him, still pouring water on him.

"Gods ... the Stark girl - are you here to murder me in my sleep?" he demanded.

"If I'd wanted to do that, I would have cut your throat while you slept - not woken you up," she pointed out logically. "Now get dressed, the Lady Lyanna has work for us to do."

"Not bloody likely," he said reaching out for the bottle of wine beside his bed. He stared in shock as Arya picked it up and poured its contents out the window.

"I said we have work to do and you can't do that work if you're drowning in wine," she told him.

"It's happened," he muttered.

"What?"

"I have died and gone to hell to be punished for my many crimes."


	5. Matters of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is _still_ at King's Landing and yearning to return to Bear Island and Lyanna ...

Adult Lyanna Mormont: [Kaya Scodelario](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1566209.html).

"I am _not_ a fisherwoman," Jaime muttered through gritted teeth as he stood knee deep in the icy water helping to pull in the heavy nets. He swore as another heavy wave washed over him, soaking his clothes.

"You are today," Arya told him. Eventually he stopped complaining and followed the orders of the men and women who were hoisting nets. He was kept too busy to talk, carrying buckets of fresh fish and salt and then he was drying fish, carrying fish that had already been salted and dried.

"I reek of fish," he muttered.

"Better than reeking of stale ale," Arya told him pertly, handing him another bucket of salt. They spent a week with the fisher folk and to Jaime's surprise, the Lady Brienne joined them after the first few days. Arya noted that Ser Jaime's mood was markedly better when the Lady Brienne worked alongside them.

"It's not too heavy for me to carry, Ser Jaime," Brienne said gently when Jaime would have taken the bucket of fish she was carrying from her. 

Brienne always worked quietly and without complaint and Jaime would watch her silently, his eyes dark with an expression that Arya could not quite interpret. Was it guilt? Was it love? It was impossible for her to tell. All she knew was that there was a certain gentleness that softened Jaime's acerbic edges and almost seemed to soothe him. 

Perhaps Jon had known what he was doing after all… although Lyanna had been forced to ask Sansa and Bran to keep Tormund at Winterfell performing various spurious task simply to keep him out of the way for the tall, red-haired wildling had developed a habit of loitering and glowering at Jaime and Brienne. 

"Bear Island is a large place, but not large enough sometimes …" Lyanna had remarked as she sent Tormund to Winterfell and asked her maester to release a raven at the same time …

*

"What do you mean no ale?" Jaime demanded irritably. "Just water?"

"You said it tasted like pigs piss anyway, it should be no loss," Arya told him impudently. The three of them sat in the cold forest eating their lunch before they started gathering herbs and flowers.

"If you fall out of that tree and on your head, don't come crying to me," Jaime told her as she scrambled nimbly through the branches of an overhead tree.

"This one?" he asked and Brienne nodded and he scraped down the moss into the basket of herbs and flowers he was carrying. It could not be denied that there was something oddly cathartic about the activity.

"You should just apologise," Brienne told him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Arya Stark. Apologise for what you did to her family."

"And where do you propose I start?" he asked her sarcastically. "Sorry I dropped your brother out the window, resulting in his paralysis? Sorry I was complicit in the murder of your father, mother and older brother? There are some things for which there is no redemption."

"True," Brienne agreed thoughtfully. "You will carry those sins with you until your death day … but I think Lady Arya might derive a degree of comfort from the fact that you feel regret…"

Before he could reply, he stiffened and frowned through the thickness of the forest. "Stand back," he warned them suddenly, holding up his dagger as he saw a movement through the trees.

"It's just a wolf," Arya said dismissively,"We see them all the time. Bear Island is full of wild animals."

"Have you seen the size of that thing? It's a dire wolf not a wolf," Ser Jaime exclaimed and Arya spun around, her heart in her eyes.

"[Nymeria](http://koalathebear.tumblr.com/post/147824084431/melcochita-direwolf-week-day-4-nymeria)?" she asked, peering around the trees into the clearing hopefully. 

"Don't be stupid, girl – you can't assume it's your dire wolf."

"Lady Arya – Ser Jaime has a point, we should be careful …"

Arya ignored them both. The huge dire wolf stood in the clearing, her muzzle sprinkled with white and her speaking dark eyes filled with gentle recognition. "You're alive!" Arya exclaimed in disbelief, wrapping her arms around the dire wolf's neck and pressing her face into her soft fur.

"If you eat the hellion, you'll solve a lot of my problems," Ser Jaime told the dire wolf confidingly but all Nymeria did was gently nuzzle Ayra's face with her nose and swish her tail in quiet contentment.

They walked back to Mormont Keep, Arya with her hand resting on Nymeria's neck. "I thought you had died," she said with a sob in her voice.

Lyanna met them in the courtyard, her brows lifted. "I'm impressed Ser Jaime. I send you out to pick flowers and you come back with a dire wolf."

"Blame the hellion," Ser Jaime told her, indicating Arya who was cooing over her beloved dire wolf.

"Nymeria? After all this time?" Lyanna asked her, delight in her usually serious dark eyes. "How on did she know where to find you?"

"All the important people are on Bear Island these days," Jaime muttered under his breath.

" I must write to Jon, Sansa and Bran immediately - they'll be so happy. Come Nymeria!" she summoned her dire wolf imperiously and ran into the keep to write a note to her siblings.

"You are looking very well, Ser Jaime," Lyanna told him with a pleased note in her voice. "It looks as though our humble island is to your liking."

"Less sodden with drink you mean," he replied sardonically. Then he smiled. "But yes ... I do feel better my lady ... perhaps it's the air - it's clearer here ..."

"Colder at least," she told him.

"Clears the head ... my father would turn in his grave if he could see me chopping wood and thatching cottages... far beneath the honour of a Lannister."

"The life of a crofter is as noble as that of a soldier, Ser Jaime," Lyanna pointed out.

"Some would say more noble," Lady Brienne added.

Lyanna left the two of them to speak with her steward about mundane administrative matters and Ser Jaime and the Lady Brienne were left alone in the courtyard together, standing awkwardly before one another.

"Without my task master here to tell me what to do – I find myself completely unsure what I should be doing next," Jaime remarked only half in jest. "Care to go for a walk, my lady?" he asked her, offering her his arm. After only a moment's hesitation, Brienne accepted his offer shyly.

*

"All women will break your heart eventually, Snow. It's my view that they are simply not capable of remaining true or faithful," Tyrion drawled as he lay back on the silk-covered window seat, peering up at the ceiling meditatively.

"I must beg to differ, my lord."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Oh please ... do you think I haven't had my brain and other body parts clouded by the fog of young and new love? Believe me it always fades and then you turn around to find them fucking your father."

Jon's dark eyes filled with sympathy. Beneath the cynicism and bitterness, he sensed true pain and heart-break in the older man. "Did I ever tell you of my beloved Shae? A beautiful whore ... she swore she loved me and I, being a fool, believed her .. then she spoke against me at my trial, bedded my father and I strangled her myself with the gold chains my father had given her." He drained his goblet of red wine and smiled bitterly, tears gleaming in his eyes. "That's what love does to you - makes you kill the woman you love."

"Not always, my lord," Jon told him quietly. At the heart of Tyrion Lannister's sometimes cynicism was genuine sorrow and disappointment. 

"You want to believe that you're different, that your love is pure and true ... and that the woman you love is worthy of your esteem .. how touching. She's probably after your wealth."

"I don't actually have any wealth ..."

"Well your position then - King in the North ..."

"Well if she'll have me, my plan was to relinquish up my titles."

"Gods boy ... you are certainly smitten. I must meet the lady in question - perhaps I shall steal her from you."

"She has a mistrust of strangers, my lord."

"I begin to become very interested. How long have you known this paragon?"

"Seven years ... although it was only recently that I became aware of my own feelings."

"When she developed tits," Tyrion said wisely.

"No, my lord... she is one of my advisors. We have also been ... friends."

"A dangerous place to be," Tyrion told him warningly. "Once they regard you as a friend, you might as well be her sister - she'll have no desire to fuck you."

"Why are we talking about this again?" Jon demanded, slightly irritated by the dwarf's inquisitive interrogation of him.

"Because I am bored and jaded and I find your naïve belief in the power of love entertaining... "

Jon shook his head. "You might find that your brother Jaime also believes."

"Ah his giantess ... is that why you sent him off to Bear Island? To be with his enormous beloved? You will be sorely disappointed - my brother Jaime has only ever loved one woman and that was to be his ruin... proving my original theory that no women is worthy of trust or belief."

Jon smiled a faint smile. "Crave the Queen's permission to visit Bear Island one of these days. You will find the air very refreshing."

"I've not met the young lady with whom you're so enamoured, bastard, but from what I'm told - you could do far better. You've a pretty enough face - too pretty if you ask me. The perfumed goddesses of the Seven Kingdoms would be immensely willing to take you to husband. No need to throw yourself away on a hatchet-faced She-Bear of the North who will probably have a beard by the time she's thirty and the fetching figure of an oak armoire."

"Thank you for your wise counsel, my lord ... but you'll forgive me if I listen to my own thoughts on the matter."

"Always were a stubborn boy ... didn't I tell you the truth about the Night's Watch?"

"You did but I've grown up since then ... and I don't regret my decision to join the Night's Watch."

"Didn't it get you killed? Falling in love might get you killed, too," Tyrion jibed cynically.

"My lady has saved my life more times than you can imagine. If I had to sacrifice my life for hers, I would consider the debt only partially repaid," Jon told him steadily.

"You poor, poor boy," Tyrion murmured, his expression a mixture of pity - and fierce envy.

*

"Would you like some more water, Ser Jaime?" Brienne asked him politely as the two of them sat at the small wooden table in her cottage, awkward and formal. A simple repast of bread, cheese, fish and dried pork sat before them. A far cry from the extravagant royal feasts of King's Landing. There were no servants hovering around to attend to them.

Jaime swallowed his food and put his fork down. "No thank you ... what I would like though, is for you to stop calling me Ser Jaime and finally call me Jaime - how many years have we known each other now?" he demanded.

Lady Brienne smiled and nodded. "A number ... Jaime ..."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "You look happy here on this wild, remote island."

"Lady Mormont … the Starks have been more than kind to me - I have a home here and at Winterfell – it is certainly far more like home to me than Tarth ever was ... my father has already given away my inheritance to a cousin who is far more worthy in his eyes…" Her voice was matter-of-fact and without regret or reproach.

Jaime cleared his throat. "Being here … has made me wonder if perhaps you could find a way to be happy with me."

Brienne tried to pull her hand away but his hand tightened over hers. "No, don't run from me ... I see the way you look at me ... you cannot tell me that you don't care for me."

Brienne gestured wordlessly, helplessly at him and at herself. "We should not be suited ... think of all the things that you yourself used to call me - "

Jaime flinched. "Never speak of those days again, I beg you ... that man was a bastard and he is dead. Long dead. The man I am today would never say those things ... the man today knows how utterly unworthy I am of your time and regard."

"That is not true, Ser ... Jaime ...you are too hard on yourself."

"Am I? You know the things I've done, the person I was ..."

"I know you are a man of honour."

"You bring that out in me ... I would be happy to be permitted to remain by your side - so that the honourable man might prevail over the cad."

Brienne was very silent. "It would be churlish of me to deny us both the comfort and solace of one another's company," Brienne conceded.

Jaime snorted. "I am not settling... this is not comfort. But I would not force my unwelcome attentions upon you. If you do not care for me, then say so ..."

"You know I can't say that," Brienne said in a low voice.

"Then take my one good hand, lead me to your bedchamber and let me show you how happy we could be ..."

*

"Perhaps Theon and I shall come and visit you and your lady love one of these days - I hope she doesn't look like her sister Alysane, though," Yara muttered with a smile on her broad mouth as Jon's staff struck her staff from her hand during their latest sparring match, making it skitter across the cold, stone floor.

"Perhaps come by road ... the sight of ironborn ships sailing towards Bear Island might bring back bad memories," he suggested tactfully.

"I put Euron's head on a pike when they brought his body back to the Iron Islands. Left the treacherous cunt to rot by the ocean as a reminder to others."

"If the ironborn ever invade Bear Island again there will be more heads sent back by ship," Jon said quietly and Yara laughed, the sound low and humourless as she picked up her staff and swung it in her hands lightly.

"You've no need to threaten me, boy. You are my Theon's foster brother - and an ally at that. If I come to Bear Island, it will be to woo and break hearts - maybe even your lady."

That made Jon smile. He had grown to like and respect the ironborn woman with her lank, brown hair, fierce face and strong viewpoints.

"She's not my lady - yet ... "

"She'd be a fool to reject you, you've such a pretty face," Yara declared, reaching out and pinching him on the chin affectionately.

"Why does everyone say that?" Jon demanded in quiet exasperation.

"Probably because it's true, my pretty darling," she told him and leaned forward and planted a smacking kiss on his firm mouth. "You're almost pretty enough to tempt the likes of me."

Jon bit back a sigh and wondered when his queen would finally release him to return home. He had received the ravens carrying missives from Winterfell and Bear Island. He longed to be back in the North with a fierceness that seemed to grow as each day passed. 

Jon glanced over at Ghost who gave a low and mournful howl. "I agree … at this point, it seems like all of Westeros will be on Bear Island before you and I, Ghost," he muttered ruefully.


	6. Return to Bear Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow finally returns to Bear Island - and Lyanna Mormont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read [this post](https://m.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/2ndl8k/spoilers_all_tracking_the_shebears_to_shed_some/), it takes about half a day to get to Bear Island from the mainland instead of the full day others have mentioned. I like the half a day option better as we already have too much time being wasted on travelling! :)
> 
> Sorry it's been so long between updates. I hope people enjoy this chapter ... This fic has ended up being much harder to write than I first expected but so very rewarding.

"I wish to request your majesty's leave to return to the North," Jon said finally after the council meeting when only he and Daenerys remained in chambers, sitting at the long table. All of the other advisors had departed.

"Good luck, Snow," Tyrion had murmured under his breath when he had departed the chamber. "The queen will be loath to part with you and your counsel …"

Daenerys leaned back, her thick blonde almost white hair contrasting sharply with the elaborately carved chair of deep umber.

"The Hand of the Queen warned me that that you might ask this of me, Jon Snow," she remarked pensively.

"I have been almost a year away from the North, majesty … it's time I returned home…"

"Do not your sister and brother rule Winterfell and the North in your absence," Daenerys asked him and he nodded.

"The stewardship of the North is not the issue … "

Daenerys nodded silently. She picked up her goblet of spiced wine and drank deeply before replying. "I have come to rely on your advice …."

"Lord Tyrion is far wiser than I and infinitely more familiar with the issues that face you, your majesty …"

"Yes, but you see things differently from the others – the different perspective is … useful."

"Lord Varys knows how to reach me even after I have left King's Landing," he pointed out.

She gave a wry smile. "I had hoped you might choose to remain her of your own volition, Jon Snow… are your quarters not luxuriously appointed? Is the food not surpassingly fine? Are the women here not exquisite and is it not warmer and more temperate here than in your brutal North?"

Jon smiled. "Life is far more comfortable here in the King's Landing than it is the North, majesty … but it is not my home – it could never be that."

"You Northerners are a strange people," she remarked. "And it appears to me that the Northerner in your blood is much stronger than the Targaryen … " Her full lips pouted slightly.

"So it would seem, your majesty," he agreed and regarded her with a hopeful expression in his dark eyes.

Daenerys gave a sigh and smiled. There was an uncharacteristically vulnerable look in her large eyes. "You have my permission to return to the North, Jon Snow. I cannot fault your loyalty and dedication to my rule … and when you marry your little Northern girl – I shall expect you to name one of your daughters after me…"

Jon found himself reddening visibly, his skin feeling hot and flushed. "There is no certainty that my lady returns my feelings…"

"If she doesn't then I shall have her executed for stupidity," Daenerys told him airily and then laughed at the expression on his face. "Relax, Jon Snow – I speak in jest. I wish you well in your endeavours of the heart…" There was a faintly wistful note in her voice and Jon bowed low and deferentially.

"Thank you, your majesty. I remain honoured to serve you."

Respect and dignity forced him to walk from the chamber calmly and with a measured step. As soon as the door was closed, decorum was thrown to the winds and he ran to his chambers unceremoniously to pack and prepare for the long journey home.

*

To his surprise, Tyrion came to see him off. "Safe journey, Snow. I shall miss you," he told him with uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice. "Don’t look so surprised – you are a genuinely good person … with a kind heart. And that is rare in this cruel world in which we live."

"You have not met, Lady Lyanna … or my friend Sam or his wife Gilly …"

Tyrion smiled. "True … perhaps like attracts like – and you with your goodness have attracted like-minded folk to you … what does it say for me that I have found myself surrounded by vipers for much of my life."

Jon remained silent, uncertain of how to respond diplomatically and Tyrion reached into his pocket and withdrew a dainty chain of spun gold with delicate gemstone flowers. "A Lannister family heirloom – I thought I might give it to my brother Jaime's enormous lady … as a gift … to wish them happy."

"I shall deliver it," Jon promised him, taking it from him and tucking it carefully into his saddlebags. "And you are most welcome to visit Bear Island, my lord …"

Tyrion's smile was almost melancholy. "Perhaps I shall … Jaime is my last remaining family member after all … my father and sister are dead … my detestable nephew Joffrey dead … sweet but simple Tommen is dead … and my lovely niece Myrcella is dead… do you admire my magnanimous treatment of Ellaria? A different man would have poisoned her for what she did to Myrcella …"

"I think my lord that we have all learned to forgive the unforgivable."

"Oh I'll never forgive the murderous bitch … but my queen finds her useful and has specifically ordered me not to have her disposed of …"

"Come to Bear Island," Jon told him simply and the two men clasped hands in farewell. Tyrion watched the younger man ride into the distance and suddenly felt lonelier than he ever had …

*

Jon's return to Bear Island took far longer than he had hoped. Travelling down the Kingsroad at a brisk pace, he first travelled to Winterfell to speak with Sansa and Bran and then journeyed towards the northern wolfswood where courtesy compelled him to stay one evening at Deepwood Motte with Robett Glover and his family who insisted on throwing a banquet in his honour. Lord Glover had plied him with what seemed to be endless ale and wine and it had been a very tipsy Jon Snow who had tottered to his bed chamber to dream of stubborn she-bears.

The following Lord Robett and his men escorted him to the wharf where Jon and his horse boarded the ship to sail to Bear Island. The journey from the mainland was only half day's sail and to his relief, he was left alone during the voyage to deal with the after-effects of too much wine. The sea winds did much to assist him in his recovery and he made several promises to himself never to drink with the Glovers again.

Standing on the deck, the icy wind blowing against his face, impatience thrummed through his blood. It felt as though he had been away much, much longer than a year.

As he crossed the bridge to Bear Island on horseback and approached Mormont Keep, impatience became quiet joy and anticipation that increased as he grew closer … A year had given him much time to think, introspect and learn his own heart. His thoughts and feelings were extremely clear to him – now to persuade Lyanna.

It was not as Tyrion had suggested that Lyanna's maturing body had suddenly made him pay her attention after all this time. For much of the time he had known her, she had been a trusted advisor – a child who was wise beyond her years and a loyal supporter. She had also been a fierce soldier who had fought courageously at his side in the war against the Night King, leading one hundred men and women of Bear Island into battle.

Jon had not permitted Arya to join the fight, ordering her to remain at Winterfell to protect her sister and their people. Lyanna had flatly refused to obey his orders and had ridden with the army of the King in the North to North of the Wall to battle the White Walkers and Wildlings.

Like Jon and his men, she had suffered from the overwhelming cold, from food deprivation, from numerous injuries and from the intense and bitter fear that had invaded all of their souls when confronted with an army of the dead that had seemed unstoppable. Only once had she almost lost her nerve, almost surrendering to fear and it had been Jon who had sat beside her and listened to her sob like a child into her hands, offering her no comfort except to grip her shoulder firmly in much the same manner he would have comforted any of his men.

In return, she had bolstered his spirits, kept him focused and steady even through the worst of times when their people died around them, swelling the ranks of the dead.

Lyanna had been by his side on the day when it had seemed as though their battle against the dead had been lost … when the skies darkened and the dead surrounded them, waiting and watching for one final command from the Night King … Brave, hardened soldiers had wept openly that day and Jon had felt a bitter regret as he stared down into Lyanna's blood-smeared face that he had taken this child of Bear Island north of the Wall to face certain death so far from her home.

But it had been Lyanna who had reached out to him and taken his hand as if to offer him comfort. "It has been my honour and privilege to serve alongside you, Jon Snow," she had told him. "And now to die at your side …"

His hand had tightened around hers as he had turned and looked across the icy expanse into the terrifying face of the Night King, seated atop his skeletal horse, his eyes blazing blue. And then suddenly the skies had blazed red as Daenerys and her dragons had arrived, bringing with them dragon fire – and hope.

Even then, he had not regarded his fifteen year old lieutenant as being someone for whom he could ever cherish feelings of the more tender variety. No … those feelings had not been ignited within him until he had heard news that Bear Island was under attack from the ironborn, that Lyanna was in danger … It had been like tinder to dry kindling and the year away from her had stoked the flames until they were almost blazing … Jon Snow was a patient man but he had waited long enough.

As he walked through the gates of the keep, Lyanna's maester greeted him with a broad smile. "Welcome back my lord. Your absence from Bear Island has been felt most keenly. My lady is by the water in her favourite spot – at the lookout. I had received word of your arrival from Lord Glover – Lady Lyanna doesn't know yet … I knew that it would be a most happy surprise for her."

Jon handed the reins of his horse to one of the grooms, pulled off his riding gloves and stuffed them into his saddle bags before walking swiftly past the keep, jogging lightly down the stone stairs that led to the shoreline.

Lyanna was standing on her own on the shore watching the fishing boats return, her slim body silhouetted by sunlight. She was dressed in a dark tunic of leaf green, plain and simple, the thick skirts whipping about her boots in the chilly wind as she held up one hand to her eyes to shield from the glare of the sun.

Her hair had been pulled into a severe braid but the wind had been strong and a tangle of dark tendrils blew about her pale face defiantly. Jon took a step forward, his boots crunching on the rough stones of the beach and Lyanna swung around in response to the sound. Her dark eyes widened in shock and unreserved happiness.

"Jon?" she breathed, a smile curving her full mouth at the sight of him.

In his leather tunic with elaborate stitching, his dark wavy hair pulled back from his face, he looked … wonderful - both familiar and exotic in his fine and costly clothing. The expression in his dark eyes was unnervingly tender.

His eyes told her that he had thought of her every day and night he had been away … when lying in beds in strange lands, when being rocked by the sway of the boat on the seas … he had drifted off to sleep, thinking of her. 

Without thinking about what he was doing, he walked forward and put his arms around her, pulling her almost roughly into his embrace. When Lyanna's arms tightened around him, returning his embrace, he permitted himself to hold her close, breathing in the soft fragrance of her hair as his fingers lingered almost reverently on the softness of her cheek.

"I didn't know you were returning today – I'd have prepared a room … waited for you by the wharf …" she whispered in a muffled voice, her face pressed against the leather of his tunic. Jon stroked her hair with hands that were suddenly disconcertingly unsteady.

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Which it is!"

"A happy surprise, I hope," he said hoarsely in a low voice. His mouth sought out hers unexpectedly, his cool lips lingering on hers. Lyanna's lips parted and Jon's tongue slid through and stroked against hers boldly and tantalisingly. Her breath caught as she closed her eyes and kissed him back …her lips were clumsy and untutored but they clung to his eagerly, almost hungrily. Jon's arms tightened around her, shocked and delighted by her unexpected response to his kiss. His body tightened in arousal and he had to stop himself from deepening the kiss.

Then she pulled back, eyes wide and her breathing ragged. "Well … you appear to have picked up some interesting new customs during your travels, my lord," she murmured breathlessly, stepping out of his reach and attempting to regain her composure. He felt a stab of disappointment as she pulled away from him. "Come to the keep for some refreshment, my lord," she told him, with an air of formality returning to her voice. "Arya is in the village, you missed Sansa – she returned to Winterfell last week with Bran …Sam should be back shortly from another visit to the Citadel – although Gilly and little Sam are here … "

They walked back to the keep side by side and he resisted the urge to reach out and hold her hand.

In the keep, he sat down and watched as Lyanna called for tea and refreshments and kept up a steady stream of polite chatter and news about things that had taken place in his absence. He told her of his travels, of the strange creatures and distant lands he had visited. He smiled over her delight as he scattered strange coins and tokens across the table from Braavos, sweets from Dorne and all number of mementos and keepsakes from the various lands he had visited.

"I would take you if you would care to visit such places one day," he offered her impulsively, imagining the wonderment in her eyes as she saw the marvels in Westeros and beyond.

Then he reached out his hand and gripped hers firmly. Her words subsided and she reached up with her other hand to touch her mouth as if she could still feel his cool, searching lips against hers.

I thought of you very often," he told her in a low voice. "I was that afraid I'd come home and find you wed to Lord Cerwyn's brother ..."

"He of a hundred goats?" she countered, staring down in wonderment at her hand in his. His thumb moved lightly and lingeringly over her skin. "Well there was also Lord Manderly's nephew..."

"Was he the one offering the pigs?" he asked.

"No, that was Lord Glover's son. Lord Manderly's nephew was offering 250 head of cattle."

"Hard offer to refuse."

"Yes. Most generous..."

"So why did you?" he asked her steadily, his thumb continuing to stroke her hand.

Lyanna lifted her gaze from his hand and spoke calmly. "I don't love them and they certainly have no love for me," she told him honestly.

It took huge strength of effort to stop a positively enormous smile from curving Jon's mouth.

"How very romantic of you to expect love from marriage, Lady Bear," he remarked teasingly.

Her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. "I admit it is a luxury ... but I do not have family to control or tell me what to do ... to force me into a loveless marriage. If I'm going to spend the remainder of my days with a man ... I'd prefer that there was at least some affection."

"But so many goats, my lady," he murmured provocatively. "Think of all the goat cheese you could make. Arya would be ecstatic."

Lyanna gave a choke of laughter. "Your sister does love her goat cheese - the rest of us barely get any if Arya's at the table. And what of you, my lord? There are rumblings in the North that it is past time you settled down with a wife."

He nodded and smiled. He drew her small hand to his lips and kissed it. It was a rather unlovely hand. Small, calloused from hard work and combat ... it had never been pampered, moisturised with costly lotions and creams - but it was strong sturdy and it belonged to his Lyanna.

"Careful with that hand my lord, I washed them but I've been gutting fish this morning, my lord," she told him apologetically, indicating the hand he had so close to his face. That made his lips twitch in amusement and he made a point of kissing her hand again, this time very deliberately.

"It only makes the hand more precious," he joked.

He rose to his feet, drawing her to her feet as well. "Did you miss me, Lyanna?" he asked her urgently.

"You know I did," she replied honestly. He placed a finger and thumb beneath her chin and tilted her head up so that she had to meet his seeking gaze. Her eyes were as dark and unfathomable as his own... her skin pale and silken - no amount of sunlight ever caused it to turn tan. Along her jaw-line was the thin white scar that would be with her until she died. If he could have killed Euron Greyjoy more than once, he would have done it gladly. He ran his thumb along the scar, his jaw tightening and his eyes becoming hard.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she assured him gently.

"Yes it does," he said grimly, wondering if the sight of the scar would always evoke such profound feelings in his breast. "That monster got off lightly."

Her face was unpainted, untouched by cosmetics, the dark eyes fierce, the nose small and the pink mouth full and expressive. But she was Lyanna and although she could not compare with the painted beauties he had encountered, it was his fierce lady of Bear Island who occupied his thoughts.

"So you missed me," he mused. "That's promising. In my assessment, that means that you at least care for me ..."

She lifted her eyebrows at him. "As if there could be any doubt of that, Jon," she told him flatly.

He cleared his throat and spoke a little diffidently. "Enough that you would considering taking me for your husband?" Lyanna's eyes widened in shock at this unexpected directness.

"But you already have House Mormont's allegiance and ...there's no need for you to - "

He held up two fingers and pressed them lightly against her lips before lowering his head to kiss her again, lingeringly. Her lips clung to his and her eyes closed with pleasure as he held her body against his.

"This would be no cold bloodless political alliance. I would marry you because I love you, Lady Bear and I have dared to so bold as to think that you might return my feelings," he told her, a very crooked smile curving his mouth.

"But Queen Daenerys - they say that ..."

Jon closed his eyes for a long second and resisted the urge to swear long and hard in frustration. "As I keep telling _everyone_ \- I've no desire to marry her, just as I've no desire to sit on the Iron Throne. You of all people should know this. I've fought enough wars and battles to last a lifetime - several lifetimes in fact... My intentions, if you'll have me, are to abdicate my position as King in the North and Warden of the North to Sansa and Bran. They will rule as lord and lady of Winterfell. And I would take my place by _your_ side here..."

"You would give up your name and everything else and become a Mormont?"she demanded, looking very confused.

"I've never had a name, Lyanna," he told her with a rueful smile. "'It would an honour for me to take on the name of a loyal and noble House such as yours - if you'd only lower yourself to have me." Then he paused and smiled an uncharacteristically mischievous smile. "Or if you could not stomach the thought of me as a husband, I'd be happy to offer my services to you as your lover and keep you pleasured in the bedchamber - I'm not proud. I'll take what I can get," he teased her, eliciting a very shocked laugh from her.

"Despite the proposals - I just hadn't really seen myself as ever getting wed ..."

"How did you suppose you'd have children?" he asked her curiously.

Lyanna laughed. "My sister Alysane always claimed that her children were fathered by a bear. She told everyone that Mormont women are skinchangers, that we turn into bears and find mates in the woods - although I assume it was just a drunken tumble with a villager one evening ..."

"Interesting. I'll be much more engaging company than a bear - I can promise you that," he assured her with a smile, running his fingertip down her small nose tenderly and leaning in to kiss her again.

"This is all very sudden," she remarked bluntly.

Jon laughed. "To you maybe - I've been thinking all this past year how I was going to ask you ... and how I was to compete with offers of livestock ..."

"I was offered furniture and tapestries, too," she remarked and he laughed.

*

_Earlier at Winterfell_

"You can't be serious," Sansa exclaimed in shock, her eyes wide and startled. Beside her, Bran looked unsurprised. He smiled, his dark clever eyes, which were not unlike Lyanna's, filled with understanding.

"But I am," Jon told her.

"But how can you even _think_ of giving up so much - for what?"

"The titles were but a means to an end. Rallying the army we needed to defeat the Night King... I needed titles for that. Don't need them now - and they rightfully belong to true-born Starks ... I've always known that."

"It doesn't feel right."

"To me it does," he said warmly. "Winterfell should be ruled by you and Bran ... you are the true Wardens of the North. And as your brother, I will _always_ be here to support you."

"Jon - I know you care for Lyanna ... but are you sure it's not just feelings of gratitude? She said it herself - she is no beauty and you could have your pick of beauties of the Seven Kingdoms - and the Free Cities, too. Marriage could forge a powerful alliance - Daenerys could legitimise you... Bran could do it - "

"And what you've said, sweet sister, shows me that you really don't understand Jon at all," Bran said in amusement, his deep voice rich and wise.

"Stannis Baratheon offered to legitimise me before, I declined. I'm a bastard, Sansa and I came to accept that a long time ago. My marriage is going to be nothing to do with forging a political alliance with some powerful family ..."

"But Lyanna?" Sansa demanded, her face troubled. "I'm not saying she's _ugly_ ," Sansa stressed. "She's just so very ... plain ... and now with that terrible scar, she's - ..."

"I'd stop speaking right about now, sister," Bran told her, watching Jon's face. "And I don't agree with you at all. Lady Mormont is very taking - she has a spirit and fierceness about her that burns deep and bright."

"She's been good to our family, Sansa. No one could have been more true and loyal."

"Then reward her with more lands and titles, Jon - you don't have to _marry_ her."

"I think you have the wrong of it, Sansa. I'm the one who wishes to marry her - I have no certainty that she will agree."

Sansa looked aghast at the thought of a girl so plain having the temerity to reject the advances of someone like Jon. Sansa had been an acknowledged beauty all her life and her loveliness had constituted such an important aspect of who she was and how she was treated that she found it hard to comprehend that Jon would voluntarily seek to ally himself with a woman she regarded as being entirely without beauty.

"I've sailed the Narrow Sea with Queen Daenerys, travelled all the lands and seas - and I've never found a woman more beautiful than my little bear," Jon told her bluntly.

There was no denying it. Sansa looked incredulous and more than a little offended, which made Bran look very amused.

"You are going to have a hard time when you're an old woman Sansa and no longer beautiful."

"There's no need to be unkind," Sansa retorted.

"You'll always be beautiful sister, even when you're old, wrinkly and toothless," Jon comforted her and she glared at him.

"Father would be pleased with your choice," Bran told Jon seriously.

"Mother would be horrified," Sansa interpolated.

"Actually I think mother would have greatly admired Lyanna - she is the embodiment of Northern loyalty and bravery..." Bran contradicted her.

"Her needlework is worse than Arya's," Sansa argued but by this point she had reconciled herself to Jon's choice and was smiling in resignation.


	7. A Bear Island Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the inhabitants of of Bear Island are most amused by the unconventional courting of Lady Lyanna Mormont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - there is smut in this chapter so please skim over it if you're not into that sort of thing. I decided that Lyanna and Jon wouldn't be the sort of couple to beat about the bush. They're too pragmatic, they've been through too much - they'd seize the day - and one another.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck by this fic and continued reading it. Thank you even more to the lovely, lovely people from around the world who are leaving such wonderful comments. I really appreciate it. Just one more chapter and an epilogue left I think ... I haven't had the chance to proof-read this properly so if you spot mistakes, please let me know in the comments!
> 
> I continue to obsess about Game of Thrones on [LJ](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/tag/game%20of%20thrones) and on [tumblr](http://koalathebear.tumblr.com/tagged/game-of-thrones).

Lyanna looked down and smiled to see Nymeria leaning against thigh and demanding a pat and head scratch. Naturally she obliged – like her namesake, the demands of the dire wolf were not to be ignored.

Where Nymeria was, Arya would not be far away and sure enough, Lyanna looked up to see Arya walking towards her, presumably after what must have been a very joyful reunion with her brother.

"He kept it so quiet that he was coming back – and even didn't let Sansa and Bran send us a raven to tell us!" Arya exclaimed, shaking her head, more amused than irritated.

"Where is Jon now?"

"Speaking with Tormund and Ser Lonnell about fortifications and such things - not sure why they're so concerned. No one would ever dare to invade Bear Island again after what happened to the ironborn."

"Quite," Lyanna agreed.

"So you must be quite happy Jon has returned," Arya remarked lightly, scrutinising the other girl's face closely.

"Of course. As are you, I'm sure," Lyanna pointed out.

Arya's eyes were brimming with barely suppressed impatience. " _Well?_ Are you going to accept him?" she demanded finally, clearly frustrated by Lyanna's responses.

Lyanna laughed. "First - I can't believe he told you and second – he's only just asked me."

"Well of course he told me, he's my brother and I've guessed for the longest time anyway ..." she rolled her eyes. "He really only ever smiles when he's with you … or speaking of you … my poor, serious brother... But you – you do love him of course.."

"Is that what you told him?" Lyanna asked her coolly.

Arya rolled her eyes again. "Of course not ... not my place to do that ... but you do love him, _I_ know you do," Arya spoke in her emphatic way. " _I_ saw the way you saved all his messages and letters - re-read them over and over again ... smiled and laughed over them ... asked the maester if any new ravens had arrived."

"I'm the lady of the keep, it is my responsibility to make sure I read all messages ..."

"You never got that excited at the messages from Riverrun or the Vale," Arya pointed out cheekily.

"That's because they're usually full of complaints and belly-rumblings of discontent..."

"And you never tuck anyone else's messages into your pockets and sleeves ..."

"I'm going to send you back to Winterfell," Lyanna threatened her with a laugh as Arya came and tucked her arm through hers.

"But don't you _want_ to be my sister, Lyanna?" Arya asked her a little plaintively.

"We're already sisters," Lyanna told her and kissed the older girl on the cheek affectionately. "Have been for a very long time now," she told her. A flicker of sadness clouded her eyes as she thought of her blood sisters who had been lost to her for a number of years now.

"You don't think of Jon as a brother do you?" Arya asked her searchingly, her large eyes studying Lyanna's face closely. "Is that why you're not sure?"

"I did ... for many years ... " Colour heated her cheeks. "I was after all something of a pestilent child in his eyes."

"But now? Surely not. All the ladies always seem to like him - many of the men, too but he doesn't even look their way."

"Perhaps his heart died with Ygritte."

"The old Jon perhaps, but don't forget my brother came back from the dead - and he's clearly given his heart to you ... although as he would tell it, you took his heart without asking."

"Pretty words. What of you, Arya? Have you no fancy for any of the men on Bear Island .. should we arrange for a ball at Winterfell for you and invite all the eligible men in the North?"

"Gods no ... " Arya wrinkled her nose. "I knew a boy once ... he was older than I ... and unlike you, he never had the chance to see me as anything other than a child."

"Where is he? I shall have him summoned to Bear Island immediately?"

"Dead I assume," Arya replied sadly. "I haven't seen him or heard from him for many years."

Lyanna put her arms around Arya and held her close. She had told Sansa a long time ago that her family did not embrace ... that open displays of affection did not take place. That was no longer true. With her blood family gone, with the terrors of the Long Night and the losses that had been suffered in the war against the Night King's army, Lyanna had come to learn new ways - of the comfort that could be derived from something as simple as physical contact. She wasn't the only one. Even the Lady Brienne was positively demonstrative these days in contrast to how she had been in the old days.

Jon came up to them, eyebrows raised quizzically. "Is everything all right here?" he inquired curiously, looking at his sister's pensive face and Lyanna's serious expression.

"Thinking of loved ones gone," Lyanna explained, smoothing Arya's tangled hair from her face before releasing her.

Jon reached down to pat Nymeria's head, a wondering expression on his face.

"I can't believe she's alive after all these years ... how on earth did she get to Bear Island ...she can't have swum across the waters ... and she could not have stolen aboard a ship or a boat without someone noticing ..."

Arya shrugged. "Don't care how she got here ... just care that she's alive," Arya told him and put her arms around the dire wolf's neck and buried her face in her fur.

Jon stared at Nymeria, then glancing over at Ghost, a slightly distracted expression on his face. Sorcery wasn't outside the realms of possibility. His own continued existence was proof of that. There had always been something mysterious and almost supernatural about the arrival of the dire wolf puppies into the lives of the Stark children. 

Nymeria returned his contemplative gaze calmly and unblinkingly as if she was aware of his many questions but had no intention of answering them.

*

Jon stared into the fire that blazed in the fireplace of his bedchamber - the same room he was always given when he stayed at the keep.

"Do you need anything further, my lord?" the young boy assigned to act as his manservant asked him hopefully.

"No, I'm all right thank you - you should go home Ethon - I'll see you tomorrow," he replied with a slight smile.

He undressed swiftly and extinguished the candle before climbing into bed, breathing deeply of the scent of night flowers that had been placed around the room. He had only been lying there for what seemed like a few minutes when a small voice spoke from the doorway.

"Are you asleep yet?"

Jon blinked through the darkness at the figure standing in a thick night gown. "No. Is everything all right?" he asked her and saw her nod silently.

He watched, slightly bemused as she came to sit on the edge of the bed. Her night gown covered her from ankle to throat and looked like something stolen from an elderly Septa of the Faith of the Seven.

"I couldn't sleep for some reason," she confided.

"It's cold," he told her. "You should get under the covers," he invited. "I'll lie on top of the covers," moving as if to slide out from under the blankets but she shook her head.

"You don't need to do that," she told him and slid under the covers with him, without any hint of bashfulness or hesitation.

He hissed and swore beneath his breath. "Your feet are like blocks of ice," he exclaimed laughingly as her feet brushed against his legs.

"You've clearly been south for too long, Jon Snow … gone completely soft," she remarked.

"No – your feet are just cold!" he retorted.

They curled up on their sides facing one another under the heavy blanket. "So why can't you sleep?" he asked her curiously.

"How can you ask that? There's so much to think about…"

He reached out to touch her face. "You know because you've come to my room, everyone's going to assume we're … fucking," he told her bluntly, struggling to find a better word.

"I don't care about that in the slightest," she said with a shrug, reaching out to touch his face, too.

He smiled. "You're not unhappy I've returned?"

"No, not at all," she replied immediately. "Just confused about things …"

"I've had a long time to think about how I feel … you've only had a day …"

She laughed. "Not at all … " She wasn't sure where to begin. How did she tell him that there was something overwhelming and impossible about one's childhood hero reciprocating one's feelings … How was she to tell him that hero worship had turned to love a long time ago, even though she herself hadn't been aware of it … that the feelings had been lurking unacknowledged in her subconscious …

"It's … strange for me to think that the king in the North cares for me …"

He looked sceptical. "I've always cared for you, little bear," he protested.

"No … I mean in … _that_ way …" she explained.

He appeared mollified. "But I'm not a king … not really …"

"Told you before that you'd be _my_ king until your last day," she reminded him in a quiet voice.

"That you did … in front of a hall full of hardened warriors and Northern lords – and you gave me the army – and the support I needed so badly ..."

He smiled reminiscently and because she still could not sleep, he entertained her with stories of his year away, making her laugh at the tales of Tyrion's outrageous attempts to tempt him with ladies – and gentlemen – of the night.

"And you would just leave them alone in your bedchamber?"

"I spent many, many a night on the ship instead … "

Eventually she drifted off into sleep and he watched over her a rueful smile on his face, keeping his hands and desires to himself. 

Tyrion Lannister would have been ashamed of him.

*

In the morning, Lyanna and Jon explored the island on horseback so that she could show him the things that had changed during his time away – the new buildings, the new fortifications along the shoreline, the new cottages in the village.

Some of the villagers gathered to watch and place bets as the two of them raced along the beach, their horses galloping powerfully along the shore. Jon won – but only slightly and both were laughing as they returned to the village, side by side.

"No problems with the ironborn on the island?" he asked her when they slowed their horses to measured trot along the edge of the village.

"They have been earning their keep," she told him. "Working alongside my people … there have even been a few marriages … "

"You permitted that?" he asked her, mildly surprised.

She shrugged. "They have honoured their commitments. In a year they will be free men, loyal to Bear Island."

After their horses were stabled, they walked into the village, hand in hand, exchanging surreptitious smiles from time to time.

"Is that Ser Jaime Lannister I see - planting potatoes with Lady Brienne?" Jon asked, sounding bemused as they looked towards Brienne's cottage and gardens – now shared by Ser Jaime who appeared to have been invited to move in.

"Yes, he's become quite the farmer ... the magic of Bear Island strikes again."

"The magic of the lady of Bear Island strikes again," he corrected.

She smiled and shook her head. "I had Arya take him in hand ... she proved a much more strict task-master than I. Now we only have the problem of Tormund to deal with?"

"What problem?"

Lyanna looked shocked. "You've not noticed how he looks at the Lady Brienne? He's been smitten with her for as long as I've known him."

"Let's find him one of the Tully girls to dally with - there's the tall girl with the brown hair ... what's her name again?"

"Ada?" Lyanna guessed.

"That's her. I shall send him south on a mission to Riverrun ... one look at her and he'll be smitten."

"Just because she's tall?"

"Well it's a beginning," Jon said with a shrug.

A small group of fisherwomen walked past them, carrying nets and baskets and nodded at them both smilingly. "Welcome back to the island, my lord. It's been too long," one of them declared. Their gazes narrowed in on the Lyanna and Jon's clasped hands. "And you do make such a lovely pair," they remarked approvingly.

"He's asked me to marry him," Lyanna blurted out and the older woman grinned.

"That's all very well and good but I suggest you check him out under the covers first, my lady. No point getting stuck with him if he's no good in bed. Sometimes the pretty ones are all talk and no action and it sets a woman up for a disappointing married life – if you know what I mean … " There was a circle of bawdy snickers from the women that made both Jon and Lyanna laugh.

"She does have a point though," Jon mused thoughtfully. "Although it would be a great sacrifice on my part - I would be … willing for you to … test my abilities in advance of any final decision… "

He glanced over at her, wondering if his bold words would make her blush. There was faint colour in her pale cheeks but she met his gaze very directly. To his astonishment, she appeared to be considering the idea quite seriously.

"I think it would be an excellent idea, but first – you need a bath. You smell like horse."

*

As he had been directed by the Lady of Bear Island, Jon sat in the bath sunken in the floor soaking in the hot water. Although the rough hewn grey walls of Mormont Keep's bath chamber was not nearly as luxurious as the baths he had enjoyed in King's Landing, the waters were hot and satisfying and he had no complaints. The steamy room was lit by torches set in the walls and candle-light and smelled of herbs and flowers, even though thankfully no one had taken the extra step of tossing flower petals into the hot, bubbling water.

His eyes snapped open as someone else entered the chamber. "My lady," he exclaimed in surprise, leaping to his feet respectfully and then immediately regretting his decision as he stood in the water, his naked body completely exposed to her astonished and very fascinated gaze.

"Oh," she remarked, her dark eyes very wide as she stared at the unmistakeable evidence of his arousal.

"Did you come in here to make sure I was bathing, my lady?" he asked her dryly. It took enormous strength of will for him to resist the urge to cover himself. 

As a contrast to his nakedness, Lyanna was wearing a light grey robe that skimmed over her shoulders and down her slender legs. The sash was tied tightly around her narrow waist.

With considerable effort, she tore her eyes away from his flattering physical response to her arrival and looked into his eyes. "No … I thought I might join you – I was also riding, after all," she told him and her hands went down to the knotted sash at her waist. 

Jon's pupils dilated and his breath quickened noticeably. He could feel his body tighten even more as he watched her small hands hesitate for a moment over the fabric.

"Don’t be afraid, Lady Bear," he teased her.

Lyanna's chin snapped up proudly. "I'm not afraid," she declared defiantly and untied the sash with trembling fingers that betrayed the lie. 

Jon swallowed hard as Lyanna's robe dropped to the stone floor of the bath chamber, leaving her as naked as he, with only her thick dark hair covering her bare shoulders.

While Daenerys' body had been all soft curves and voluptuous roundness, Lyanna's body was strong and lean … Her breasts were small but inviting, the nipples rosy and aroused. There were scars on her body - like him, she was a fighter who had seen combat. Another man would have compared the two women in his head but for Jon, he saw only Lyanna. He desired only the woman standing before him.

His gaze travelled from her small feet, up her bare legs, lingered momentarily on the dark hair between her thighs and then travelled up slowly until it reached her face again. She was staring at him boldly but there was a flush of colour on her pale skin that was not entirely a result of the hot steam of the bath chamber. Instinctively, her hands started to move down to cover herself but Jon shook his head, a very tender and loving smile curving his firm mouth.

"Don't ever hide yourself from me … " Arousal changed his voice so that it was more intimate … inviting.

"Did any of your perfumed beauties have knife and sword wounds?" she asked him ruefully, gesturing at the light scarring on her arms and torso. The wounds were long healed, but the scars would never disappear.

"No … but I'd say we're a perfect match, wouldn't you?" he asked as he indicated his own scars which overshadowed hers in terms of quantity and severity.

"Do me the honour of joining me?" He extended his hand towards her and with a smile she took it and stepped into the bath, a sigh of pleasure escaping her lips as she lowered herself into the hot waters of the bath.

"Do you think me very bold?" she asked him bluntly and he shook his head, his dark, wet hair, slicked back from his smiling face.

"I think you delightful," he told her and leaned towards her to kiss her parted lips, their wet, slick bodies pulling towards one another.

"Do you like this?" he asked her some time later as he trailed lingering kisses down her bare shoulder with a smile on his face.

"Well you don't smell like horse anymore," she murmured thickly, tilting her head back so that he could kiss the sensitive skin on her throat. She whimpered as his hand cupped her breast in the water and then slid down between her thighs to stroke and arouse. She clutched his wet shoulders convulsively as his long, calloused fingers slid into her slowly and deliberately. He was doing something … _something_ that made her throb and ache as his fingers moved against her sensitive flesh swiftly –sliding and rubbing against her. 

His fingers slid deeper inside of her, stroking and pressing until her body started quivering. He kissed his way along her throat as his fingers continued pleasuring her, working against her sensitive flesh as her breathing quickened. She arched up against him, her breasts thrusting out as he lowered his mouth to take one nipple after another into his mouth.

Her flesh was hyper sensitive and his long, strong fingers pumping into her, stroking her very deliberately were arousing a previously unfamiliar hunger inside of her.

"Come," he whispered hoarsely. Her body stiffened momentarily, her hips thrusting against his fingers hard as she climaxed violently against his hand.

As her breathing returned to normal, he kissed her lips again. "So what do I smell like now?" he asked her, his voice soft and husky.

"Like you … like me …" she whispered, a catch of helpless pleasure in her voice.

Much, much later, they lay in a tangle of bare limbs in her bed, Lyanna breathless and extremely startled. Jon was equally breathless and taken aback at the ferocity of their coupling. He hadn't anticipated that their first time would have been so very delightful and mutually pleasurable.

"You are very, very noisy in bed, my lady," he remarked, kissing her mouth, adoration in his dark eyes as he stroked her tangled hair from her face.

"I don't remember that part …" she confessed.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too much," he told her repentantly. He had wiped her down with cool, damp cloths after their first time, brushed away the tears on her cheeks.

"I'm all right," she told him, her arms sliding around his neck to pull him down to her. "More than all right."

"You see, I did 'fit' after all," he said with a laugh in his voice, kissing the tip of her nose tenderly.

"You'll have to teach me - everything," she commanded him as she traced kisses along the still livid scars on his chest one by one, her lips lingering tenderly on his flesh.

"I intend to, my lady," he promised her. "There is much for us both to learn about one another … and I remain confident in my abilities to persuade you to be my wife …"

*

"As one Bear Island fighting man is equal to ten mainlanders, if you wish to be Lord of Bear island, you will need to prove yourself worthy, Jon Snow," Lyanna announced with a smile.

"I shall be worthy of my lady's regard," he assured her confidently, stripping to the waist and standing in the grassy field, ignoring the admiring gazes of the onlookers. _"Ooof!_ " he exclaimed as he was attacked without warning by one of the grinning men around him, who admittedly appeared more inclined to rub his face in the mud and dirt than to actually hurt him.

"My poor, poor brother," Arya muttered, staring at Jon barrelling into a huge tree of a man who fell backward with a roar, taking the smaller man with him and sticking his face in the mud.

Beside her, Sam flinched as a burly Bear Islander gave a blood curdling shout before charging towards Jon who had only just managed to stagger to his feet. The two of them went flying through the air in a heavy heap to land in the mud amidst cheers of elation from the crowd.

Nonetheless, Jon managed to fight off the ten or so good-natured men with varying degrees of success and it was agreed by those present that he had passed this challenge - in a manner of sorts.

In the following weeks, Jon conscientiously passed more tasks set for him by his lady. Chopping wood. Building a cottage. Herding sheep with the use of a dog loaned to him by one of the grinning crofters. He even demonstrated an unexpected skill as a fisherman.

"Did he cheat?" Lyanna demanded suspiciously when a triumphant Jon Snow returned with what appeared to be a most impressive yield of fish.

"Ah my lady, it's as though his face were that pretty that the fish just done swim into his nets willingly," one of the women told her with a sigh. "It was almost … like sorcery."

"I did not cheat," Jon protested, looking extremely wounded.

"Are you sure the others didn't just give you their fish?" she asked him pointedly.

"No, I saw him catch the fish with my own two eyes," Ser Jaime assured her. "It was as nauseating as the ladies have told you – the fish appeared to swim to their doom most gladly."

Everyone on Bear Island was vastly entertained by the trials and tests being imposed by Lyanna and Jon's unswerving commitment to the unconventional courtship. There was always a large audience gathered to watch his latest demonstration of devotion to win the hand of his lady.

At the same time, Jon continued with unfailing diligence and dedication to demonstrate his prowess in bed … not only there … in the bath house, in the woods, against various walls of the keep … even in the stables, to the disgust of Arya and others who'd had the misfortune to walk in on the two of them on more than one occasion. Notwithstanding the public courtship and her outstanding reply, no one on the island was in doubt of the intimate nature of their relationship.

Jon had given up all pretense of maintaining his own bedchamber in the keep and made his way to Lyanna's bed chamber every night.

"My lord, are your chambers no longer to your liking?" she had asked him the first time he had come to her bedchamber.

"They are far too cold," he had explained, entering her bed chamber and closing the large, heavy doors. 

"You do have a fire place," she had reminded him, with a smile on her face as he had approached her.

"The sheets are cold," he had told her as she took a step back, moving away from him.

"I'll have a bed warmer brought to your chambers," she had told him and he laughed as her retreat was stopped by the cold stone wall behind her.

He had kept his hands by his side and lowered his head to kiss her, smiling as it was Lyanna herself who deepened the kiss, reaching up to twine her arms twining around his neck and pulling him closer as he had backed her against the wall and used his hand to slide her nightgown up above her knees.

"All right – you can stay," she had muttered before she lost the power of speech.

*

"You keep this up and you'll be sick of one another before the wedding day," Tormund had warned them seriously.

"Thank you Tormund – when I want your advice, I'll ask for it," Jon had told him coolly.

"I haven't agreed to marry him yet," Lyanna pointed out with a smile.

"That's right," Jon said, looking sad. "Might as well make the most of it in case she says no," he told the tall Wildling man who shook his head, smiling despite himself.

"Again?" Lyanna gasped in astonishment as he rolled her over so that she straddled him on the bed. "But what about what Tormund said?"

"If it's all the same to you, Lady Bear – I'd prefer it if you didn't mention Tormund while I'm trying to do … _this_ …" he told her. "Besides - I've years of celibacy to make up for," he teased her, reaching up his hands to cup her breasts before sliding down to grip her hips. She groaned as he thrust deep and hard inside her, rocking back and forth in quickening motions as he watched the pleasure suffuse her flushed face.

"I just had a thought - if I get you with child, my lady – you'll be forced to wed me," Jon muttered as they collapsed onto the bed side by side, covered in perspiration and breathing heavily.

She turned and smiled at him. "I drink a tisane made from roots and herbs from the woods, my lord," she told him and he sighed.

"Should have known you'd be two steps ahead of me, She-Bear," and his teeth sank lightly into the fullness of her lower lip.

"Always," she promised him.

*

The small figure disembarked from the ship and stood on the wharf looking around uncertainly. "Come, Lord Tyrion," Sansa told him gently as she stood tall and graceful at his side, her face calm and measured. "The keep is this way."

"I'm beginning to think Bear Island is a hotbed of sorcery, my dear wife," he remarked as he stepped forward.

He had visited Winterfell first and it had been something of a shock to both to see one another again after all these years. The marriage had never been annulled … they were still wed even though the marriage had never been consummated. 

"You look well, my child," he had told her, admiring the porcelain delicacy of her complexion and the rich red of her hair that gleamed almost blindingly in the sunlight.

"I wish I could say the same. You look … quite terrible," she had told him bluntly, staring at his face puffy from over-indulgence in alcohol, sweetmeats and debauchery.

At her suggestion, they had travelled to Bear Island together, the journey pleasant and leisurely. It bemused him to see how much his child-bride had matured … how the years had brought a calm and serenity and a degree of wisdom to the frightened and fragile girl he had known so long ago. They did not talk much of the past, of the ugliness and the tragedy that had littered their lives, instead they spoke of Jon, of Lyanna, of Brienne and Jaime …

As the ship arrived at the wharf at Bear Island, they were met by Ser Jaime himself, dressed plainly in the clothing of what appeared to be a peasant. Tyrion's amazement was palpable. 

"Brother?" he demanded, staring up into his brother's face.

"None other – it is good to see you again," Jaime told him, leaning down to embrace him warmly. 

The dissipation wrought by the alcohol was gone … the bitter anger was gone … instead, Jaime Lannister looked younger, stronger … and for the first time in his life, he looked happy. 

"Is it the sorcery of Bear Island or your giantess who has brought about this change?" Tyrion demanded in shock and Jaime laughed.

"Perhaps a little of both," Jaime said with a shrug. "What brings you here? Come to sample the fish and the cheese?"

"I came to visit my beloved brother … as I was invited to do by Jon Snow when he was at King's Landing."

"He and the Lady Lyanna are at the lookout, I will take you to them," Ser Jaime told him.

At the lookout, Tyrion's eyes were drawn to the sight of a young man with a young woman in his arms, his mouth covering hers in a lingering kiss as his hand lingered on the curve of her breast intimately.

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Young love – it's really quite nauseating," he told his brother feelingly. 

"Snow – you have company. Stop manhandling your woman for a moment or you'll have nothing to do on your wedding night," he called out and Jon lifted his head and glanced around, his arm still about Lyanna's waist. Lyanna's eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasured arousal but she steadied herself and stared inquiringly at the newcomer.

"Lyanna – may I introduce Lord Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tyrion – Lady Lyanna Mormont … "

Tyrion bowed low. "A pleasure to meet you at last," he told her politely, his gaze lingering for a long moment on Lyanna's flushed skin before travelling to rest on Jon Snow's face. In all the time he had known the young Northerner, Jon Snow had been more inclined to frown or scowl than smile, his face pensive and grave. The man before him was relaxed, with an easy smile in his eyes and curving his mouth, the shadow of darkness completely banished.

"You are very welcome, my lord. I wonder that Queen Daenerys was able to spare you," Lyanna remarked politely.

"She summoned Ser Davos from the Iron Islands to counsel her in my absence. Lady Yara complained and squawled of course but the queen's decrees are the queen's decrees and we must all obey …"

Walking up the path towards them were Brienne, Arya and Sansa. Tyrion spoke politely with Brienne as she thanked him for the necklace that he had given to her by way of Jon. 

At the same time, Sansa and Lyanna embraced and exchanged a long meaningful glance which made Jon frown with faint suspicion in his dark eyes.

Before he could demand to know what they were plotting, Tyrion was demanding to be given a tour of the island and the mysterious looks were soon forgotten.

*

"And what is today's test of my devotion to be, my love?" Jon asked in a tone of long-suffering patience, even as he smiled into Lyanna's eyes warmly. His fingertip traced the scar along her jaw, his touch a caress. He had to resist the urge to lean forward and follow the path of his fingertip with his lips. Such things would lead to other things and now was not the time or the place although his hand went down to her waist and lingered at the laces of her gown tantalisingly.

Lyanna pulled away from him and temptation. "To defeat the Lady Brienne in armed combat," Lyanna announced to the crowd that had gathered to watch Jon's latest attempt to win the hand of his lady.

The Lady Brienne stepped forward and looked calm and confident as Sam and Ser Lonnell helped strap Jon into his armour.

Tyrion raised his brows. Jaime had told him of Jon's proposal and the "tasks" that Lyanna had been setting for Jon before she would accept his hand.

"Is she just toying with the poor boy's affections?" Tyrion had asked when he had become apprised of the situation, frowning heavily, disapproval in his eyes. 

Jaime had laughed in genuine amusement. "No, the girl loves him … I've seen the way she looks at him – and him at her. Besides, the two are already fucking like a pair of oversexed rabbits," Jaime murmured crudely. "Consider it the Bear Island version of courtship – but it seems to work for them."

"Interesting way of showing affection – asking your beloved to try to murder him," Tyrion muttered now as they watched the Lady Brienne test her sword and Jon tie his dark hair back from his face in preparation for their fight. "And you … one might think that you really believe in love …" he said accusingly to his brother.

Jaime said nothing, his face becoming shuttered and still and Tyrion glanced over at the tall blonde woman standing opposite Jon Snow, even more graceless and unschooled in courtly airs than the lady of Bear Island.

"What of Cersei?"

Jaime flinched and lowered his head, his blond hair falling over his face momentarily. "That was also love … terrible … ugly and destructive … but a love nonetheless. This is different. Mock me if you like, brother," Jaime challenged his younger brother defiantly.

For once there was no cynicism in Tyrion Lannister's clever face. "Not I … between you and young Snow over there … I could almost begin to believe in the healing power of love," he said with a faint smile that contained more than a hint of self-loathing. "Almost, mind you …" Jaime slapped his hand on Tyrion's brother and gave it a tight squeeze of affection.

A thoughtful expression on his face, Tyrion turned to watch the trial by combat between the two accomplished warriors.

Tyrion's smile grew as Lyanna's smile began to fade. The Lady Brienne lifted and swung her sword in a manner that could only be described as profoundly half-hearted. There was a clash of steel and both combatants stepped backward before resuming their attacks – a thrust, a parry … a passable riposte …

Ser Jaime snorted, giving no doubt as to his opinion of what he was witnessing. Jon raised his shield and parried as he struck out with Longclaw. Brienne staggered dramatically, dropped her sword and fell to her knees on the ground, her shield beside her.

"My lord, I fear I am vanquished," she announced with feigned breathlessness as Jon grinned above her, his dark eyes brimming with unchecked amusement, under no illusions about his 'victory'.

"Lady Brienne - I do not wish to impugn your honour … but it appears to me that you did not take the efforts in that trial that you might normally ..." Lyanna murmured from where she had been watching the 'combat'.

"My lady - just marry the poor boy, I think we all agree that he's waited long enough for your answer," Lady Brienne told her with a smile, causing Lyanna to flush hotly and Ser Jaime to snicker at her discomfort.

"My lady needs to take the time she needs to make her decision in this matter," Jon said with a shrug as he cast his weapons aside and stood patiently as his armour was removed. "Although it is hard to imagine what else she could possibly ask of me to prove my worthiness - I have after all dressed a pie, caught fish with my bare hands, killed and plucked a chicken, shod a horse, wrestled with an angry pig ..."

"A wild boar would have been much more of a challenge," Ser Jaime murmured provocatively amidst the raucous laughter.

"At court a suitor must be able to woo his lady with a song that he has himself written," Tyrion interjected blandly, his eyes gleaming with gleeful malice. Jaime and Sam started laughing out loud while Brienne and Gilly turned and stared at Jon with a degree of sympathy in their eyes.

Jon blanched with horror as his smile vanished. "My lady... I beg you no..."

"You really don't want to do that," Arya and Sansa agreed emphatically. Jon wasn't sure whether to be grateful or offended for their support.

"After supper tonight," Lyanna announced amidst smothered smiles and guffaws.

"Is it to be after supper so that we don't lose our appetite?" Ser Jaime inquired drolly.

"Isn't it time you returned to Kings Landing, Ser Jaime?" Jon asked him. "You must be missing your wine."

"And miss this entertainment? Not for all the rubies in the Seven Kingdoms," the Goldenhand declared extravagantly.

"Ever the mischief-maker," Jon remarked as he walked up to Tyrion who shrugged.

"They do not call me the imp for nothing … besides, it would appear that you have exhausted all other ways to demonstrate devotion to your lady – you should be thanking me, Snow. I suggest you speak with Maester Tarly for suggestions on how not to completely disgrace yourself."

"Thank you for your advice, Lord Tyrion," Jon muttered with feeling but crossed to Sam's side and the two were seen disappearing into the library together, presumably to prepare for the evening's trial by fire.

"You are not quite as I had imagined you, my lady," Tyrion remarked, walked over to Lyanna's side. She looked at him warily and the two of them began walking side by side towards the lookout.

"Should I be offended or flattered?" she asked him cautiously. Her dark eyes were very large and expressive and her dark hair was tied back from her pale face in a simple knot that was markedly plain in contrast with Sansa's more elaborate and elegant hair arrangements.

"Neither .. possibly both," he replied unhelpfully. "I know why I enjoy tormenting Jon Snow – but you my lady?" he asked her curiously.

"I have my reasons," she replied guardedly.

"But you love him," Tyrion observed. "I wasn't sure at first … but it appears that you do …"

Lyanna was silent and the two of them sat on the stone steps that led down the cliff face to the water's edge. It gave them the perfect view of the water and it was the same place he had first seen her when he had arrived on the island. 

"He adores you, you know … he'd die for you."

Lyanna gave a short laugh. "Of course I know that … he'd die for his people … his men … his family … You my lord were not at the Battle for Winterfell … when he faced Ramsay Bolton and told him that there was no need for a battle, that thousands of men did not need to die. Bolton refused to face him alone – _he_ was not prepared to die for his men, but Jon was. I saw him stand alone, facing an army of 6,000 men … "

The unmistakeable hero worship in her voice was not lost on Tyrion. "Is that when you fell in love with him, my lady?"

"I was but a child at the time. I knew nothing of love … I only knew that this man was brave and selfless to the point of foolishness – but that he would die protecting his people and that I was proud to follow him."

"And follow him into battle you did. Truly – you do Bear Island proud. The legends of the She-Bears have not been exaggerated. And Snow loves you … all my efforts to corrupt and lead him astray failed most miserably …"

"He told me," Lyanna's voice was amused and Tyrion's eyebrows shot up.

"I had wondered if he still had it in him, but from all accounts, the boy has absolutely no problems servicing his lady to her satisfaction …" his words were provocative but Lyanna did not give him the satisfaction of even a blush.

"I can assure you my lord that everything works perfectly."

"You are a remarkable young woman, Lady Mormont … I am honoured to meet you at last," he told her and kissed her hand most respectfully with not a trace of mockery in his voice."


	8. Winter's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. I am so sorry it took so long to finish this. I actually didn't want to finish it. Notes at the end have a link to the epilogue.

After supper that evening, a large number of people assembled in the village square and a somewhat tortured-looking Jon sat with the stringed instrument on his lap.

"Was it really necessary for you to invite _everyone_ on the island to attend?" he asked pointedly of Tyrion, indicating the group assembled around him and watching him with great fascination.

"Don't look at me, Snow - they invited themselves," Tyrion protested.

Jon glared at him, plucked one string on the instrument, then another and then began to ... sing.

Sometime later after performing what the very generous might have described as a song, the audience stared at him in long and speechless astonishment, laced with not inconsiderable horror.

"It was ... very … interesting, my lord," Lady Brienne tried to compliment him.

"Jon's always been a much worse singer than me even," Arya declared bluntly.

"A very interesting use of ... sound ..." Sansa offered helpfully.

"Lyanna is rather difficult to rhyme with any words that are in existence," Lyanna remarked and Jon reddened amidst the noisy laughter that surrounded him.

"Well I thought the use of syncopated rhyming to be quite engaging," Samwell opined.

"Was someone being murdered in here or was that Jon singing?" Tyrion demanded maliciously.

"More like a pig being castrated," Jaime opined.

"That were shit. If I'd known you were that bad a singer, we'd never have followed you into battle, Lord Crow," Tormund declared, draining another tankard of ale and shuddering dramatically.

"What did you think, Little Sam?" Gilly asked her young son whose eyes were very, very round.

"Is Uncle Jon in pain, mama?" he asked in a loud whisper and Gilly choked back a laugh.

"When we are married my love, never, ever ask me to sing to you again," Jon told his beloved with a tender smile curving his mouth and warming his eyes. He raised his tankard into the air in a wordless salute to her before drinking deeply.

"I really can't believe you made him do that," Arya declared as Nymeria came up to the table for snacks and pats. "Even Nymeria put her ears back when Jon started singing."

"Fortunately he has other skills and abilities," Lyanna conceded, watching Jon from across the room, seeing the way his dark hair fell across his face as he laughed and spoke with his dinner companions. She liked this side of him, the relaxed and smiling man, humorous and at peace with his surroundings.

"Sansa says everything is ready now – are you ever going to put my poor brother out of his misery or have you more ordeals and trials planned for him?" Arya asked her curiously and Lyanna merely smiled.

After a time, she found herself in need of some quiet, away from the noise and revelry. Taking care not to interrupt the festivities, she left Jon drinking with Tyrion and the others, clanking tankards and laughing drunkenly as they continued to mock him mercilessly for his poor singing abilities.

Walking away from the warmth of the village square with its bonfires and torches, the cold night air hit her skin like icy needles as Lyanna walked along the uneven stone path towards the lookout. Shivering a little, she pulled her heavy fur cloak around her shoulders more tightly and stared out to sea contemplatively.

"May I join you?" Jon asked her quietly from a few steps away in the darkness.

"I did not mean to interrupt your entertainment – there was no need for you to follow me," she replied when he dropped onto the stone step beside her. He smelled of ale and the smoke of wood fire but despite the flush in his cheek and the brightness of his dark eyes, he appeared quite sober.

"You forget that I have _asked_ to be granted the privilege of following you where you go, my lady," he declared very lightly but with complete seriousness in his dark eyes.

He smiled and reached out to put his arm about her shoulders to draw her against him for warmth as they stared out at the water. The moon lit up the dark water and it was clear and strangely beautiful despite the cold. The long winter had been very long indeed - seven years ... although of late the nights had grown shorter and the days had grown longer. Samwell had been heard to utter the most delightful phrase," _Winter is ending ..._ "

"Why do you like this spot so much?" he asked her curiously. There had been many a time when he had come out to the lookout and found her sitting alone, arms wrapped around her knees as she stared out at the water, a distant almost sad expression on her face.

"When I was small, I'd wait here every night and hope my mother and sisters would return. Even after I knew that they would never come back home, I'd still find myself sitting here and waiting for them ..." She thought back to her younger self, hoping for a glimpse of a sail … imagining the day her family would be reunited again.

"I'm sorry you were left alone at such a young age, little bear," he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to her smooth, cold cheek.

"I suppose it made me strong …" she replied.

" _You_ were born strong ..." he told her warmly. "The blood of warriors runs through your veins." 

Lyanna leaned her head against his and closed her eyes momentarily, enjoying the feeling of his lean, strong body supporting her … listening to the sound of the waves hitting the shore. He was right. She _was_ strong … and when he was with her, she felt even stronger.

"Now come to bed with me, my lady - before we both freeze to death," he invited her, standing up and holding out his hand to help her to her feet.

They walked back to the keep hand in hand, making their way back to her bedchamber wordlessly. "You reek of ale," she laughed as he kissed the back of her neck when helping her to unlace her gown. There was no trace of drunken unsteadiness in his eager hands as they unknotted the ties and slid her dress from her shoulders. His hands roamed boldly beneath her shift, pulling her against him as they kissed hungrily and then he guided her to the bed as they continued to kiss.

Laughing, they fell backwards onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and he straddled her with a relaxed smile on his face, leaning down over her, his dark hair falling about his face. She reached up to brush it from his eyes, her fingertips sliding over the light tracery of scars on his face and then pressing her lips to the more livid, harsh scars on his chest, the knife wounds that had led to his death at Castle Black.

"Are you kissing them better?" he asked her in amusement, his fingers tangling in her thick dark hair as her soft lips slid across his scarred flesh.

"Did your nurse never do that for you as a child?"

"Unlikely," he replied dryly, thinking of his life in the Stark household as a child - an outcast, dwelling on the fringes of the family. Catelyn Stark staring at him with pain and hatred in her eyes, Ned Stark staring at him with a sorrow and regret that he had never understood until he was older.

Banishing memories of the unhappy past, he focused on the happiness of the delightful present. He kept the bulk of his weight off her body but she smiled and pulled him down onto her determinedly, her lips kissing his bare shoulder, her hands sliding over the smoothness of his back as she breathed deeply of his scent.

He had memorised her body … the mole at her throat, the curve of her hip, her slim calves and the tantalising way her breath caught and quickened when he kissed between her thighs, catching her sensitive flesh in his teeth and tugging. He smiled in satisfaction as Lyanna arched up against his clever mouth, noisy whimpers escaping her lips as her head rocked from side to side on the pillow, her fingers clutching convulsively at the sheets in pleasure. He knew exactly how to bring her to completion swiftly - or how to prolong her pleasure so that it was an almost delicious agony that had her begging for release – she who never begged or pleaded.

He lay beside her, listening to the sound of her ragged breathing … licking her damp skin with his tongue.

"You've been very patient – waiting for my answer," she murmured, now only slightly breathless as his fingertips moved across her breasts, lingering on her nipples before tracing patterns on her stomach.

"Yes I have … although you’ve kept me well entertained these past few weeks as I wait so you shall have no complaints from me, my lady," he remarked, his finger coming to rest on the fullness of her lower lip. He gave a low groan when her mouth slid slowly and teasingly down his bare chest, down his firm stomach and then lower to press a kiss to his throbbing, hot length.

Lyanna moaned softly as Jon slid his fingers through her hair, his thickness stretching her lips as he pumped in and out of her mouth slowly. She sucked and licked his way up his shaft, her lips sliding up and down. He slid deep at one point and her breasts were throbbing, her nipples erect as he reached down to massage one of her breasts.

His hips thrust up against her urgently and he felt her smile with satisfaction, her warm lips tight around him as her tongue slid the length of him, pleasuring him, moaning as he pushed his length into her mouth, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out, thrusting deeper and deeper. She brought him to completion, swallowing deliberately and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Well … you've been a very good tutor," she told him, her eyes dark and full of pleasure as she leaned over him.

"And you, my lady have been an excellent pupil …" He smoothed the hair from her face. "In all of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, there is nothing I love more than you," he told her gravely. "As long as you permit me to remain here with you, nothing would make me happier – except perhaps for you to finally agree to be my wife." She smiled and drew her towards him and distracted him in the best way she knew how.

Much, much later, they lay side by side, facing one another in the darkness, the dim candle flickering beside the bed and providing very minimal illumination.

" _I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children_ ". Lyanna stared through the dim candle-light into Jon's shadowed face as she quoted the oath of the Night's Watch. She knew the words by heart for Jon had taught them to her … Over the years, there had been much opportunity to speak of such things and both Jon and Sam had spoken to her of their lives in the Brotherhood. Of decisions made, of oaths broken and moments of intense regret.

Jon's face remained expressionless. "You do not wish to marry an oath breaker?" he queried. " _I shall wear no crowns and win no glory,_ " he quoted almost sadly.

"I've not said that," she told him, shaking her head and brushing his dark hair back from his face before sliding kisses along his cheek and along his jaw. "You loved Ygritte … there was no shame in that … and then you were killed and released from your oath … _I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men…_ " She smiled. "I know that you've never done what you've done for crowns or glory … it was to protect us – _all_ of us. You are a man of honour, Jon Snow - the best man I have ever known… and I would be proud to be your wife - if you think that you could be happy with someone like me."

"I am _already_ happy with you," he told her bluntly, leaning in for another kiss. " _Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death_ "," he quoted as though it were a promise and she reached up to lay her palm against his cheek.

"No. It does not begin now," she told him and he looked at her, confusion in his dark eyes. She smiled. "You started watching over me a very long, long time ago, my lord."

Relief flooded his face. "And you, me," he replied, thinking of the strong-minded child who had remained loyal to House Stark when others around her ignored the call, the fierce child who had confronted a room full of hardened warriors and shamed them with her words, reminding them of their vows. He remembered the confusion he had felt, staring at her with wonderment that he had been able to win the support of one such as her.

Smiling, Jon lowered his head and attempted to kiss her again. When instead of returning his kiss, she pulled out of his embrace and slid from the bed, he looked puzzled and slightly frustrated.

"Gods, Lyanna - what are you doing?" he asked her as she reached for her robe and pulled it about her naked body.

"Come with me, Jon Snow," she said mischievously, a smile on her lips as she threw his robe at him and picked up a candle. "Put some clothes on and come with me."

Mystified he pulled on the robe and tied it at the waist before taking her free hand as they walked down towards the Great Hall. "I wanted to say yes on the day you asked me to be your wife," she confided. "But there were things that needed to be done first …" She led him into the hall and held up the candle.

Jon glanced around the hall, lit dimly with the frail flickering light of Lyanna's candle and then he stared in wide-eyed shock at the sigils on the wall. Over the years, he had been in the hall many, many times over and had seen House Mormont's sigil many, many times.

As they had always done, the shields on the walls displayed a black bear rearing on its hind legs, but now, at the bear's side was the unmistakeable figure of a white wolf – also on its hind legs and facing the bear as its equal.

Jon stared at the shields, dark eyes wide with a completely unalloyed shock and then he looked down at Lyanna, his expression vulnerable and questioning.

"It took time for these to be finished… and of course there were these, too …" she told him and unrolled a large richly embroidered banner onto the large table that also featured a wolf and a bear … "Sansa made them for us … do you like them?" she asked him hopefully, her eyes glowing with expectation.

Jon's eyes were shining and his throat tightened. "There was not a need for this …" he told her hoarsely.

Lyanna set the candle down on the large table and flung herself up into his arms. He caught her easily, burying his face in her neck. She felt a slight dampness against her skin and drew back, looking into his eyes, reaching up to wipe away the tears with a wondering hand.

"I thought you would be happy..." her voice was a little uncertain.

"I _am_ happy," he assured her, a smile in his eyes and a kiss in his voice. With a laugh, he picked her up in his arms, leaned down to blow out the candle before carrying her back upstairs to their bedchamber where he proceeded to show her precisely how happy he was.

*

"You kept it all very quiet," Jon accused his sister over breakfast. Sansa's lips quirked into a serene smile. "I never suspected a thing." Sansa gave a wordless shrug of her slim, elegant shoulders as she spread butter on her bread and took a bite. "All this time – I've been waiting for her answer … one ridiculous task after another - and you knew all along that she meant to accept me …"

"I've always been better at keeping secrets than you, brother," Sansa murmured as she took a sip of her pomegranate juice.

"Does this mean that you approve now?" he asked her and she nodded. "You'll stay for the wedding of course?"

"I'm helping to arrange it," she told him archly. "Didn't you know?"

"Clearly another secret being kept from me by the women around me," he replied, very amused.

As Jon was summoned from the room by Sam, Tyrion spoke up abruptly from across the table. "You really are full of surprises, beloved lady wife," he remarked.

"So I'm told, husband," she replied coolly.

"I'm informed that we are also to be fitted with clothes for the wedding – shall we?" he asked her rising from the table, coming around to her side and offering her his arm. Instead she chose to take his hand and they walked side by side companionably. "Not that I've ever been a gentleman, but the better part of me requires me to ask if you would wish me to make arrangements for the annulment of our marriage, lady wife. While I know you were for a time ostensibly married to Ramsay Bolton … a formal annulment would permit you to take a husband properly – should you so wish."

Sansa shrugged. "Whatever my lord wishes. Perhaps you wish to wed another and already having a wife is an impediment."

Tyrion gave a short laugh that was entirely without humour. "I do not envisage myself being married again, lady wife. Matrimony has not impeded my … pleasures. My suggestion is entirely for your convenience."

"I am in no haste," she told him. "Let us discuss it further after the wedding, there is too much to plan …"

"Let me guess, you have all the seamstresses embroidering wolves and bears on everything."

"Not everything … just all the napkins … the banners, the flags … the collar of the groom … the sleeves of the bride's gown …"

"Everything," Tyrion muttered in amusement. "And what of me, lady wife? What shall be required to wear?"

"You and Ser Jaime will be in red of course … with a gold lion embroidered somewhere on your tunic."

"And Jaime's giantess? Shall she be permitted to wear armour to the wedding ceremony?"

"The Lady Brienne shall wear a gown," Sansa told him firmly. "And you, lord husband, will refrain from drinking too much ale."

"But ale makes everything more bearable, lady wife…" he remarked but he was smiling as he said it.

"It is good to see you smiling, my lord. At King's Landing – you always seemed so unhappy," she remarked as they walk to Lyanna's favourite step at the lookout.

"When you are as misshapen and ugly as I, you will learn that life is a cruel and twisted journey, lady wife," Tyrion told her bluntly as he sat down on the step and stared out at the blueness of the water moodily.

Sansa sat down beside him and looked at him directly. "Do you think _me_ misshapen and ugly, my lord?" she asked him bluntly.

Tyrion looked amused . "Quite the contrary, lady wife. Tales of Sansa Stark's loveliness are told throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Her rare beauty, kept cruelly trapped in the frozen North amongst the uncouth barbarians who must be unable to appreciate such exquisite perfection…"

Sansa stared down at her hands and her face grew pensive. "So let me tell you of my life since we left Winterfell at the king's behest, my lord … "

He listened intently as she spoke calmly and deliberately. Occasionally, her voice hesitated slightly, laced with emotion but she forced herself to continue. By the time she was telling him of her life at Winterfell with Ramsay Bolton, Tyrion was pale.

Sansa's words were unvarnished. She was clinical and direct in her account of what had befallen her – what she had done, what had been done to her. With others she had conveyed through subtle gesture, expression and speaking silence what horrors had taken place … with Tyrion – foul-mouthed, irascible and blunt, she spoke of it all in brutal honesty so that he might know the measure of her experience.

Her words and demeanour did not invite pity or sympathy and so he gave none, although Sansa felt a strange sort of relief to have finally spoken aloud of her ordeals. For many years now, she had muffled the pain of her sobs into her pillow and told no one … merely endured with the stoic strength expected of a Stark of Winterfell.

"I spoke out of turn, lady wife," he conceded. "This life can be a cruel journey for all of us … regardless of appearance or circumstances."

Sansa nodded, reaching out her hand and taking Tyrion's in hers comfortingly. "Now tell me of your journey, husband," she invited him.

Tyrion stiffened. "I fear my journey is not one that is fit for the ears of a gently born maiden such as yourself." She turned her head and regarded him gravely and calmly, her demeanour indicating that she had no intention of moving until he spoke.

Thus, to his astonishment, he found himself speaking and telling her everything. The whole, sad and sordid tale of the women he had loved, the tragedy of their deaths … the things that he had done and the regret and guilt he would take with him to the grave.

"I will burn in an endless hell for what I did to Shae."

"As will I for what I did to Ramsay Bolton … that was not a good death …" Sansa told him. "Do you think it possible to put the ugliness of one's past life behind? To start again?" she asked him.

Tyrion exhaled. "When I was younger … and foolish … I still had dreams that that was possible. But who knows? Look at Ser Jaime and the Lady Brienne …my brother has begun his life again. His prior life was full of cruelty and baseness … his relationship with our sister was … twisted. And yet I see him transformed. If I didn't know better, I'd say that these Bear Islanders were a cult."

Sansa laughed. "Perhaps … I've seen my sister Arya transformed … even Jon is a different person. He never used to smile and laugh so much … he was always so sad and serious, even as a boy – "

"I have never seen a man look at a woman with so much love as that in your brother's eyes when he looks at the Lady Lyanna," Tyrion conceded. "It almost makes me believe that such nonsense as love exists."

"I believe in love, my lord … but not all of us are fortunate enough to find it. Perhaps it is a punishment for what we have done."

"Forgive me for the intrusiveness of this question, lady wife – but you've not been lain with a man since Ramsay Bolton?"

Sansa shuddered. "No. How could I – after _that_?"

"Damn the man for taking a beautiful and pleasurable act and twisting it so," Tyrion mused. "It need not be an ugly experience, lady wife … it can – and should - be most wonderful …"

"So I am told … and so I hear … for my brother and Lyanna can be most … vocal in their many encounters," Sansa muttered with amused exasperation in her voice.

"Yes … definitely not intending to go to her marriage bed a virgin," Tyrion muttered dryly. "Your brother doesn't seem to mind … It's abundantly clear that he's no stickler for tradition."

*

Jon lay on his side and watched Lyanna sleeping. Her breathing was deep and even …and blessedly dreamless.

In the early days, both of them had been haunted by the terrible nightmares. Lyanna would wake up sobbing, tears on her cheeks with the names of her sisters on her lips, crying for her mother. On other occasions, she would relive the war against the Night King, terror pulling her deep into a nightmare. "It's just a dream, love," Jon would murmur, pulling her from the darkness and her eyes would snap open and stare up into his blindly. His voice and his touch would banish the chill from her and her breathing would steady and he would hold her until she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

Jon's nightmares had been much, much worse … death, loss, fear and disaster haunted his dreams …And blood … so much blood … but like Lyanna , over time his nightmares appeared to dissipate and grow less sharp in intensity. "I'm here," he would hear Lyanna whisper, careful not to touch him, and using the softness of her voice to wake him from his bad dreams. His eyes would snap open, dark and bleak but then warmth and love would soften his gaze as his eyes rested on her concerned face.

Both had lived with their nightmares for a long time … but there was something about lying next to the warmth of the other, the silent comfort of the other that gradually banished their bad dreams into the realms of distant memory. 

Jon studied the darkness of Lyanna's lashes against her cheeks, the serenity of her sleep that brought him immeasurable comfort. He smiled at the slight snoring that she always denied vehemently. He resisted the urge to kiss her and instead, curled up alongside her warm body and allowed himself to drift off into sleep, his dreams filled with sunlight, love and promise rather than blood, terror and emptiness.

In the mornings, he enjoyed watching her drowsy face struggle towards wakefulness and they performed their morning ablutions with the familiar air of a couple who was already wed.

"Sansa is in her element – preparing for the wedding," Jon told her, splashing the icy cold water from the basin onto his face.

"Arya refuses to wear a dress. I don't mind, but Sansa is insisting," Lyanna replied as she washed her face in the water and brushed her teeth with the paste prepared from one of the many herb gardens on the island.

"Don’t even try to intervene – let those two resolve matters as between themselves," he warned her with a laugh in his voice. Lyanna pulled a brush through her thick hair, tugging at the snarls that had formed in the night and Jon came to stand behind her, taking the brush from her hands and running it through her hair firmly but gently, coaxing the tangles and knots out of the long lengths. His fingers lingered in her hair and he lowered his face and breathed deeply of the soft fragrance of flowers that laced her hair.

She watched, smiling slightly as he pulled his own, wavy black hair back from his face and tied it in a small and neat knot. Earlier in the week, she had heard the sound of childish shrieks of laughter and had come across Gilly, Sam and the children of the village surrounding Jon in the school yard. The ordinarily fierce warrior had been sitting on the ground by a stone bench, his hair in a multitude of intricate braids, laced through with colourful ribbons and a profusion of delicate flowers, painstakingly styled by the girls in Sam's class.

"Is this how you intend to dress your hair for our wedding, my lord?" she had asked him ironically, laughing at the sheepish look in his dark eyes and the pink bow at the end of one of the braids.

"The little terrors were insistent," he had protested laughingly even as the little girls and boys clambered all over him, shouting with laughter and demanding to be carried on his shoulders or swung through the air. In the end, he'd crawled on all fours pretending to be a horse while several village children rode on his back ordering him to run faster.

"No flowers or ribbons today?" she asked him archly and he grimaced. His hair had smelled like flowers for the rest of the day and it had taken him some time to untangle his thick hair from the multitude of complex braids and ribbons.

"No my lady, if it's all the same to you – I continue to prefer simplicity …" he reached out and twined a thick lock of her hair around his hand and she stepped towards him, smiling as he lowered his dark head to hers.

"They'll be expecting us for breakfast, my lord …" she told him as his arms went around her and his mouth covered hers.

"They can wait ... we have a different hunger I wish to satisfy …"

*

"May I join you, Lady Sansa?" Brienne asked her quietly, coming upon the young woman who sat on a stone bench in the small enclosed garden with her needlework. At the edge of the village, within a short distance of the keep, the garden was well-tended with rich green grass and a profusion of flowers and small trees.

"Of course," Sansa told her, laying her needlework down beside her on the bench.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude," Brienne apologised.

"Not at all. Please sit," she invited warmly. Brienne sat down on the bench awkwardly.

"You look very well, my lady."

"I think the air of Bear Island seems to agree with all who come here," Sansa told her warmly. "Although I will be returning to Winterfell shortly after the wedding … there are many housekeeping matters that require my attention and I am told that there is an outbreak of prickly rash in the village that is keeping our maester much occupied."

"Well to that end, I come to speak with you my lady about whether you wish to journey back to King's Landing to meet with the High Septon – to request his permission to annul your marriage to Lord Tyrion. I would accompany you, should you wish to travel."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Really? You would leave Ser Jaime?" Sansa teased her gently and smiled as a faint flush appeared on Brienne's pale face.

"Yes. Ser Jaime is aware of the oaths I have made to your family."

Sansa picked up her needlework and kept her eyes downcast as she stitched. "Thank you, Lady Brienne … you are very kind. I have no intention of requesting an annulment."

"But my lady – you are still so young and beautiful. You have your whole life – you might wed again .."

"It is my understanding that a marriage can only be annulled if it has not been consummated," Sansa said quietly, her slender fingers swift and sure with her needle and thread.

Brienne stared at her in astonishment. "My lady."

"Don't look so shocked, he is my husband, after all …"

Lady Brienne's hand went to her sword. "Did he force his attentions on you, Lady Sansa? Did he insist upon his marital rights? Only say the word and I – "

"Well actually as I'm the one who visits his bedchamber," Sansa remarked, a faint flush on her high cheekbones,"So I'm not sure it would be fair for you to challenge him to combat," Sansa told her.

"Oh."

"Yes. Quite," Sansa said, laying down her embroidery again.

"So it would seem that you … welcome his attentions."

Sansa's slender hands twisted a little convulsively and Brienne picked up her embroidery and handed it to her. Sansa looked at her with relief and snipped the thread and selected another colour to thread through the needle while Brienne helped her to cut the thread.

"At first, it was mere curiosity … Lord Tyrion seemed sure that he could convince me that … it didn't always have to … hurt … be ugly …"

Brienne's face creased in pain and sympathy. "Oh my lady .. it should never, ever be that …" her voice was emphatic and passionate.

"Yes .. that's what he said .. he said that if one screamed, it should be with pleasure .. and that if there was pain – it again should be for pleasure's sake and that the man should never take what was not freely given …"

"And?"

Sansa blushed. "It appears he was right."

"Well." Brienne sounded rather impressed. "Perhaps it is a talent that runs in the family," she ventured.

Sansa gave a low chuckle. "As my lord would have tell, he said that a man as misshapen and grotesque as he was forced to learn the arts that would please the ladies … such that the lady would completely forget about his appearance…"

"And it works?"

"Yes." Sansa's stitching became more emphatic as she studiously avoided Brienne's gaze. Brienne looked more than a little impressed.

"Lord Tyrion is very generous with his attentions," Sansa added. "Patient and takes a great deal of time to make sure that … well …" her voice trailed off in pleasurable reminiscence.

"So is he to move to Winterfell with you, my lady, since you presumably will not wish to move to King's Landing given your duties ..."

"We really have not decided on any particular course of action yet …" Sansa confessed. "I would not care to leave Winterfell … I have obligations to our people… and Bran needs my support. And – I enjoy the responsibility of looking after Wintefell."

Lady Brienne rose. "I am pleased to see that you have found a measure of happiness, my lady," she told Sansa who inclined her head graciously.

"Our lives can be full of surprises and surprisingly some of them can even be happy surprises," she agreed. "But I thank you for your support, Brienne … " she reached out one hand and took the taller woman's hand in hers. "I would that you might one day look upon me as an equal, Brienne … a friend rather than someone to serve… I release you from the vow you made my mother. .."

Brienne smiled a little sadly. "The vows are not yours to release. I fear I failed your lady mother … and while I appreciate your kindness, Lady Sansa, I choose to be bound by my vows to protect you until there is no more breath in my body." She bowed low and walked to the gate of the garden.

"My lord," she said bowing politely towards Tyrion who was approaching the walled garden.

"Lady Brienne," he greeted her politely and sauntered into the garden, glancing around, his gaze becoming warm as it rested on Sansa.

"A flower for my lady wife, although the flower pales into when compared with her beauty," he declared, offering her a crimson flower. Sansa smiled and sniffed at the flower.

"Pretty words my lord, I saw you pluck the flower from that bush over there. Gilly will be most displeased with you."

"She doesn't own the damned garden, merely attends to it …" Tyrion said with a shrug and dropped himself onto the soft grass in front of the bench. "The Citadel is tardy to tell us, but it must be that winter is ending soon," he remarked, indicating the blue skies, the green grass and the warmer air around them. "You Starks will have to change your motto soon."

Sansa smiled and he returned her smile. "And how are you this morning, lady wife. I was quite cast down to awaken and find myself alone in the bed."

"I had an early morning appointment with Maester Tarly and did not wish to wake you."

"You did not mind waking me last night," he murmured provocatively, making Sansa give him a look of reproof.

"You are outrageous, my lord."

"Not as outrageous as you, lady wife … I am positively in blushes after your conduct last night," he remarked drolly, laughing as her cheeks flamed red in response. "You have proved far too easy to corrupt and entice to engage in my thoroughly debauched activities ..."

She removed her slipper and threw it at him. He caught it and used it as the opportunity to catch her foot in his hands and knead it firmly, a wicked smile in his eyes. Sansa closed her eyes as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss against her silk-covered calf, his lips sliding up her leg ...

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice spoke from the entrance of the garden. Sansa's face was flushed with arousal as she glanced over at Jon whose eyebrows were raised quizzically.

"My lady bear craves your presence in the keep, Sansa," he informed Sansa who retrieved her slipper, caught up her sewing and muttered beneath her breath, "I will see you later, my lord," before hurrying out of the garden past Jon who watched her leave, a slightly bemused expression on his face.

"Before you hurl one of your riding gauntlets at me and demand satisfaction, I'll remind you that your sister and I are lawfully wed."

"I'll also remind you that she is my sister …"

Tyrion laughed. "Enough of the outrage, Snow… I would never treat your sister badly. In fact, I have gone out of my way to ensure that she is protected …"

"That was your idea of protecting her?" Jon asked him ironically.

"There are no complaints from the lady," Tyrion replied blandly. "Take a seat, dearest brother-in-law and allow the peace and tranquillity of this garden to soothe you."

Jon sat on the bench and rubbed at his brow as if it hurt. "Do not make me regret inviting you to Bear Island, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion came to sit beside him on the bench and clapped a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder. "Rest easy, Snow. I have few talents but I am remarkably proficient at pleasing a woman in the bedroom."

Jon groaned aloud. "Enough. Also, how do you know you're any good? If you pay a woman to lie with you, she's hardly likely to give you poor feedback."

Tyrion looked offended. "Then ask your sister. I certainly don't pay her to lie with me."

"Sansa looks happy, I'm going to leave it at that. I don't need to know more – not do I care to."

"This is unworthy of you … this outraged Brother of the Nights Watch act would have become you more had I need heard … and indeed even _seen_ you and the Lady Lyanna in acts intimate and noisome …"

"That were but one time – and you shouldn't have been skulking about …"

"You were on the dining table of the Great Hall in the middle of the day," Tyrion retorted acerbically. "Not quite sure I'll ever be able to forget the sight of your great white ass plain for all to see…although your lady's tits are rather magnificent, albeit small …"

"You begin to try my patience, Lord Tyrion," Jon told him grimly and Tyrion laughed in genuine amusement.

"You are far too easy to provoke, brother-in-law. How on earth have you survived for so long? Oh that's right, you've been raised from the dead at least once already."

That made Jon laugh and the two men rose and returned to the keep in a state of relative accord.

*  
There was a resounding silence in Winterfell's great hall when Jon made his announcement to his advisers. The group journeying from Bear Island to Winterfell had been comprised of Jon, Lyanna, Sansa and Tyrion. Upon their arrival back on the mainland, they had been joined by Lord Glover and his men who had ridden with them back to Winterfell for the council meeting.

Lord Manderly's snowy white brows drew together. "This is highly irregular my lord." His voice was gruff but not unkind or disapproving.

"But not entirely unexpected," Lord Glover interjected ruefully. He had seen for himself the open affection between the Lady of Bear Island the Lord of Winterfell, the way Jon had helped her up and down from her horse, the way Jon's gaze had rested on her, watching her every move, the way Lyanna's hand reached out wordlessly to take Jon's when she thought no one was watching... When they had set up camp for the night, the two had shared a bedroll as matter-of-factly as if they were already wed – although to the relief of all present, they had refrained from engaging in anything scandalous.

"House Stark, led by my brother Bran and my sister Sansa will continue to discharge its duties as Warden of the North. The blood of the First Men runs through their veins – and mine. House Mormont pledged its support to House Stark long ago, and this remains unchanged."

Bran and Sansa sat at the table alongside Jon and Lyanna. "Our brother speaks truly," Bran announced gravely. "We stand together as one."

"The ties between House Mormont and House Stark have always been and continue to grow stronger," Sansa added. From across the room, Tyrion who had eschewed a seat watched her closely from his vantage point, leaning against the wall. Ever the outsider, he preferred to linger on the edge of the council, listening and watching to the events, a look of sardonic amusement in his eyes.

"So I suppose this means that you definitely don't want to wed my nephew, my lady," Lord Cerwyn remarked sadly. "He's a comely lad, although not possessed of the sharpest of wits … " he conceded.

"I was most honoured by his offer, my lord," Lyanna murmured politely. "But must decline."

She kept her face expressionless even as Jon's hand sought hers out under the table and gripped it firmly in his.

She slid her foot so that it rested alongside his and then leaned her leg against his for support and comfort. Following Jon's unshockingly shocking declaration, the council proceeded to discuss other matters. The rebuilding of the Wall, training of fighting men (and women), delegations to the south and other lands.

"The ironborn continue to honour their promise to turn away from the Old Ways," Jon reported.

"Even with Ser Davos continuing to remain at King's Landing?"

"Yes, Yara and her brother are committed to the process of change. Those who would rebel have been exiled … the remainder see the sense in change."

"What of the ironborn pardoned by Lady Lyanna?" Lord Cassell asked abruptly.

All eyes turned and stared at the scar on Lyanna's jaw line. Lyanna was unperturbed. She had grown accustomed to the way people's gazes dropped down from her eyes to linger on the long scar. A different woman would have been self-conscious but Lyanna had never deluded herself with aspirations of beauty. 

"They flourish and obey our rules," she reported calmly. "We have had no incidents involving the ironborn prisoners… and they have all been given their freedom and some property to work."

"Magnanimous of you. I would have executed the lot of them… treacherous squids," Lord Manderly declared.

"My lady is as merciful as she is accomplished," Jon murmured.

"And how much longer are we to have the pleasure of Lord Tyrion Lannister's presence here with us in the North?" Lord Stane inquired.

"As long as my lady wife will tolerate my presence," Tyrion replied smoothly and Sansa inclined her head slightly, a gracious smile curving her mouth.

Later that evening, Lyanna sat by the fire in her nightdress as Jon brushed her hair in what was fast becoming a nightly ritual.

"That wasn't as terrible as I feared," Lyanna confided, closing her eyes in pleasure at the long, smooth strokes of the brush through her thick hair.

During the war against the Night King, she had kept her hair short. [Long Hair had proved to be a point of weakness that could be seized by the rapacious hands of the wights](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7337893/chapters/16899116) and Lyanna's hair had maintained a lad's style until the Night King's army had been vanquished. It had also made people stare less. While people knew that the Lady of Bear Island rode into battle alongside the King in the North, the boy's cut and boy's clothing had made her less conspicuous, although Sansa had bemoaned her unladylike ways.

Now, there was an added in pleasure in the luxury of having long hair … a pleasure only enhanced by the feel of Jon's fingers in the thickness of her hair, the pleasure he took in tangling his hands in her hair and drawing her closer to him so that they could kiss.

"I knew all would be well," Jon remarked with a smile as he lay the brush down and the two went to the bed in Jon's bedchamber. Sansa and Tyrion occupied the bedchamber that had once belonged to Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark and Jon had taken one of the smaller chambers for his own. In preparation for her arrival, as usual, a bedchamber had been prepared for Lyanna but Jon had picked up her cases and smiled at her.

"Will you stay with me in my bedchamber, Lady Bear or do you wish to stay in your own rooms?" he had asked her, his dark eyes telling her how he wished she would respond.

"Your people will find me scandalous," she had murmured, eyes downcast.

"No more scandalous than I - and do you really care?" he had asked her and her lips had quirked in a smile.

"No. Not at all." After all, to this day, she still did not know the identity of her own father or who the father of Alysane's children had been …

Jon had carried her cases to his bedchamber before the astonished eyes of the Winterfell serving folk.

"My lord - please let me carry - "

"No, it's all right - I shall carry my lady's things. You might take them to the wrong bedchamber," he called over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs towards his own chambers.

Now as Jon blew out the candle and rolled back towards her to draw her into his embrace, Lyanna brushed his thick dark hair back from his brow and kissed him lingeringly.

"Sansa seems happy at last … she's always seemed so much more serious than Arya …"

"Do you think this … thing she has with the Imp can be real?" Jon asked her curiously and Lyanna nodded.

"I believe she cares for him and he for her … "

"They make a ridiculous sight - my sister so tall and fair and Tyrion Lannister so squat and misshapen …"

"But you like him - I know you do…"

"I respect him, that is true … but do I like him?" Jon wondered aloud, his brows drawn into a deep frown.

"You do. Despite his many attempts to corrupt you … even though he made you demonstrate your singing abilities …"

Jon's brows lifted in amusement. "Do you presume to know my thoughts better than I do, Lady Bear?" he questioned.

"I would presume no such thing," she murmured demurely and he laughed and pulled her on top of him so that she lay stretched out on top of his body, her dark hair falling about both their faces as he smiled up into her eyes.

"I would that she were happy … she's had more sadness in her life than joy …

"And you, love?" she asked him questioningly, laying her hand alongside his cheek and he smiled.

"The joy I've experienced during the years of knowing you have almost made up for the rest …"

"Perhaps Sansa will find that sort of happiness with Lord Tyrion - he adores her, too you know, even though he would find it hard to admit that he was capable of feeling such lowly sentiments…"

"Well they are already wed … her 'marriage' to Ramsay Bolton was as unlawful as it was repugnant …"

"Then let us wish them happy … " Lyanna told him and kissed the tip of his nose affectionately, which made him smile.

 

*

"Yet another one of my advisers wants to go to Bear Island?" Daenerys demanded in disbelief. "This starts to grow ridiculous, Ser Davos of House Seaworth! Must I lose all my people to that wretched island in the North?"

Ser Davos smiled. "I promise you that it will only be for a short time, your majesty. I wish to attend the wedding of Jon Snow and Lady Lyanna Mormont – I promise to return to King's Landing promptly after its end."

"And who shall I have left here to provide me with counsel?" she asked him pointedly.

"I would recommend Lord Varys," Davos told her. 

"Not Littlefinger?" Daenerys murmured, slight malice in her eyes.

"We are all grateful that your majesty has not been duped by his honeyed words."

"I am aware that he once cherished aspirations to sit on the Iron Throne," Daenerys replied, her eyes alight with disdain.

"He is a very ambitious man."

"And charming in his own unctuous way … but I see through such things very clearly, Ser Davos, for I have been loved … and I know the truth of real unfeigned affection."

"You are gracious, majesty - a lesser ruler would have had him put to death for his pretensions."

Daenerys sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I have seen far too much death in my time … "

"As have we all."

Daenerys extended her hand and clasped Ser Davos' hand in hers warmly. "Go to Bear Island, Ser Davos and wish Jon Snow and his beloved happy … but if you do not return, I promise you that I shall send Drogon after you to bring you back to King's Landing," she promised threateningly.

"Thank you my lady," Ser Davos replied with a smile. He had grown genuinely fond of the diminutive queen with her fierce determination and her wilful ways.

"And bring your wife and remaining three sons to live here at King's Landing with you … it is past time that she joined you …"

"Majesty, our lands …"

"At Cape Wrath," Daenerys said dismissively. "I'll triple your holdings and your sons will all be lords. Bring them back with you," she ordered and Ser Davos smiled. It would be good to see Marya and his three remaining sons again. It had been a long time since he had seen his long-suffering family.

*

"You look most lovely, my lady," Brienne complimented her warmly and with great sincerity as she stood at her side as Lyanna dressed for the wedding in the bedchamber she shared with Jon. The day – or rather the night - long awaited by all on the island had finally come. 

Lyanna's deep green gown was almost plain, the only decoration being the new house sigil stitched into her bodice by Sansa. She wore a maiden’s cloak embroidered with House Mormont colours and sigil, the heavy fabric falling lightly about her shoulders to almost skim the ground.

Brienne wore a gown of pale rose. Ordinarily the tall woman looked awkward and ill at ease in women's clothes, but tonight, she was smiling and almost beautiful in her pleasure at Lyanna's wedding.

With no blood relations remaining, Lyanna was led towards the heart tree at the centre of the godswood, before the sacred weirwood heart tree in the forest by Ser Lonnell. Lanterns had been set up to light the path and the guests carried torches to light the way through the darkness of the evening. Accompanying her in lieu of her own family were Brienne, Gilly and little Sam, Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion.

Jon waited in front of the heart tree, the tree with the almost eerie face carved into its trunk. He wore a dark leather tunic with a deep green undershirt, the leather also tooled with the house sigil and the stitching remarkably fine and even. Around his shoulders, he wore a cloak in the colours of House Stark, a grey direwolf on a white field stitched onto the heavy cloth. By his side were Arya, Sansa, Bran, Tormund, Sam, Ser Davos and the Lord Commander Edd Tollett who had made the long journey down from the Wall to see his dear friend finally wed. Ghost and Nymeria kept watch from a short distance away, their faces calm and wise.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Bran asked with a smile on his pale face. A carved wooden chair had been placed on the grass and he officiated the ceremony with gentle dignity.

"Lyanna of the House Mormont, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?" Ser Lonnell asked.

Jon stepped forward, a warm and tender smile in his dark eyes. "Jon Snow. Formerly of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Ser Lonnell Morley, her commander at arms who has watched over her since her infancy."

"Lady Lyanna, do you take this man?" Bran asked her gently. He smiled. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

Lyanna's dark eyes met Jon's and their smiles were soft and filled with affection.

"I should hope you'd take me," Jon remarked. "Please my lady – for the sake of my sanity, no more tasks…"

"I do," she replied, a laugh in her eyes.

There was some laughter as the two had their hands and wrists bound together loosely by fishing rope and ribbons. The ribbons matched the colour of the ribbons threaded through Lyanna's hair. There was more laughter as the two of them attempted to untie their wrists from one another after their exchange of vows.

Going against tradition, during the ceremony, Sansa stepped forward to remove Jon's cloak, replacing it with a cloak in House Mormont colours - the white wolf stood beside the proud black bear.

Hands clasped like children, the bride and groom knelt on the mossy ground before the heart tree as Bran spoke benedictions and blessed their union.

Sam stepped forward. "A raven arrived this day from the Citadel," he announced. "As we have all suspected – the long winter has finally ended…"

As man and wife, Jon and Lyanna walked back through the woods and past the keep to the keep where the entire village was assembled to join the feasting and festivities. Jon danced with every single village girl, woman, crone or child who asked him for a dance and he saw Lyanna also dancing, her face flushed with uncharacteristic laughter. Even Sansa and Tyrion were seen dancing at the edge of the group, deep in conversation and apparently completely disinterested in dancing with the others. Fortunately Tormund and Edd were more than happy to dance with everyone – female and male and a merry time was had by all.

"Slightly unconventional … no need for a bedding ceremony as the bride and groom have been fucking for a number of weeks now," Tyrion remarked dryly to his brother during the course of the evening.

Ser Jaime snorted. "Not such a rare occurrence, brother. How many brides in King's Landing would you say were actually virgins on their wedding night?"

"True – but I don't think Lady Lyanna is even pretending …"

"Of course not … she's as honest as she is brave with absolutely no artifice in her."

"I almost forgot that she was one of your fearless warriors in the war," Tyrion mused, taking care not to allow his usual mocking tone to his voice. 

"No more than a child … but she fought with the ferocity and bravery of a man – I saw grown men run away and hide when confronted by the army of the dead … if you could have seen her during the war, riding into battle alongside us …" Jaime's voice was filled with admiration and affection and Tyrion shook his head, amazed that even his cynical brother could be thus impressed.

"Do you like your new cloak, my lord?" Lyanna asked Jon, sliding her arms around his neck and he smiled and lowered his mouth to hers to kiss her.

"Yes … I find it much to my liking … as is my new wife …"

"The lords of the North are still disappointed that you have renounced your titles, Jon …"

"Bran has my support. There is nothing for them to be disappointed about. Besides, I expect to have my hands full," he told her with a tender smile curving his mouth.

She turned in his arms to watch their people dancing and enjoying the evening. His arms were wrapped around her waist as he held her tight against his body. "I assume that you have dispensed with that tisane …" he asked her meaningfully and she laughed.

"Yes my lord … do you mean to have me grow round and ungainly with your babies?" she demanded.

"The thought had crossed my mind," he murmured, kissing the side of her neck as his hands wandered up to cover her breasts.

"The bedding should take place in your bed chambers, not here," Tyrion told them in amusement and so the bride and groom took their leave of the others, walking hand in hand and waving

"I am sure the council is still appalled that you have thrown yourself away on a minor lord …" Lyanna told him with no trace of repentance in her voice.

"They are not and even if they were – I would not care," he replied firmly.

Had he been born a high lord, noble born of House Stark proper, he would not have been able to cast away his duties and enter into what was a marriage without any political advancement. As Jon Snow, he was free to do as he wished and none walked the Seven Kingdoms who might tell him different.

There were times in his life — not many, but a few — when Jon had been glad he was a bastard. As Lyanna put her hand in his and led him through the keep towards their bedchamber, he knew that this was one of them ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so_ much to everyone who has commented or even just read my story. I've enjoyed writing it more than I can say. 
> 
> I've written an [**epilogue**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7777009) for this story which I've added as a new work to my series [The Wolf and the Bear](http://archiveofourown.org/series/500281) rather than a chapter to this fic for two reasons:
> 
> 1\. it's a bit sad, so you can ignore if you don't want to read it  
> 2\. by making it a work, I can still add chapters/works to this series if people send me prompts/requests . Feel free to send me prompts for either this fic or [**Lady Bear**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7337893) if there are any scenes/moments you want me to write about. I can't promise I can write it - but I will certainly try. You can subscribe to the series [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/500281) and then you'll know if I add more fragments.
> 
> If you haven't seen it already, I made a little fan vid for this fic and you can see it over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7722418) \- I had a picture in my head of what an adult Lyanna would look like when I wrote this story and you can, too by watching that video. 
> 
> Thanks again everyone!


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